


The Challenge of Being Us

by jlillymoon



Series: The Challenges [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, johnlock - Fandom
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-14 23:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 83,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1283485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jlillymoon/pseuds/jlillymoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A slow burn Johnlock Slash, my first. The story of John and Sherlock's coming together after the death of Mary and the baby, post The Last Vow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Great Equalizer

**Author's Note:**

> This is not only my first fanfic, but the first time I have ever put anything out for the public to read. Please, leave comments, but be kind. Britpick in not necessary, but suggestions for improvement are always helpful. I have no idea how the story will unfold itself. Have to see where the journey takes me. I am glad you are along for the ride.  
> I do not own anything other than the story arch. I just borrowed the characters and secreted them into my mind palace for while. Enjoy!

Chapter 1- The great equalizer  
Mary Watson was her name. It was not the name her parents gave her at birth. It was the name she and her husband chose for her after she had tried to lay her soul clean and wanting at his feet. He pushed it away, not caring what lay in her past, choosing only to look at their future. But in death, she was Mary Watson. Wife, friend, lover and mother. Her blue eyes were unseeing and her blonde hair was pushed away from her face. But it was Mary Watson that was now lying on the table in Molly Hooper’s morgue none the less.  
Sherlock Holmes was pacing, no, John corrected, stalking around the flat at 221B Baker Street. He insisted that after he and John finished a case, that before John blogged about it, that he had final say over the details of the case. He didn’t want John to embellish aspects of it or as John said make it more believable. Mary called it humanizing it. Sherlock called it lying. John was finishing up with his normal hunt and peck method of typing and his deliberate slowness was beginning to grate on Sherlock’s nerves. John smiled to himself as he finished the last notes on the computer key board. He sat back and stretched out his arms and hands from the hunched position he had taken at the desk that looked out the window. Sherlock heard the quiet in the room and almost lurched at John to take a look at what he had written.  
“Finished.” John said as Sherlock pushed at him to vacate the chair. John moved with some stiffness and Sherlock barely waited for him to leave before sitting down in the chair himself. Sherlock’s sea colored eyes read the synopsis quickly and efficiently. John could see his mind changing details and his hands itching to take the key board himself and correct what he saw as mistakes in the reporting.  
“This part here is wrong.” Sherlock said. John shook his head and walked into the kitchen. He put the kettle on to boil and pulled down the pot and mugs to make himself and the famous consulting detective some tea. Mary was due back before long and they would leave Sherlock for the evening for the comfort of their own flat and the quiet of their own pedestrian existence.  
“Don’t you dare touch it.” John said with a warning tone. He sighed a great sigh of thanksgiving when Sherlock’s phone buzzed at the table near where John was working. A call would take Sherlock from the blog long enough for John to hit the publish button and end the argument before it began. Until Sherlock hacked into the blog and changed it himself. It wouldn’t be the first time.  
“Lestrade.” John said handing Sherlock his phone. Sherlock answered.  
“Yes.”  
“Sherlock, is John there with you?”  
“Of course. Where else would he be.” John scoffed at this. He had plenty of other places he could be. And John wasn’t ready for another case so soon. He needed to sleep and shower. And cuddle on the sofa with his wife.  
“Listen, there has been an accident.”  
“Oooo. An accident. Are you quite sure.” Sherlock could hear the detective inspector trying to find the right words. It hurt Sherlock’s ears to hear the mind on the other side of the conversation grinding so hard.  
“No, Sherlock, not that kind of accident. I will have a car there for the two of you in the next few minutes. I will meet you at Bart’s. It’s Mary.”  
“Mary?” Sherlock was confused. John looked up at the sound of his wife’s name.  
“Sherlock, she was hit by a car. She’s…. she’s….” Lestrade couldn’t finish the sentence. Sherlock didn’t either.  
“Greg, are you sure.” John’s face became very confused. Sherlock not only had never called DI Lestrade by his first name, he had never gotten it right when he did try.  
“Yes. Molly is here. Don’t tell him. I will help with that.”  
“I am very capable…” Sherlock started and looking over at John he realized that perhaps Greg was right. “Molly?”  
“She can help.” Greg said. “I’ll see you soon.”  
“Does Mycroft….” Sherlock couldn’t finish a sentence now either. His heart, for as unfeeling as John thought it might be from time to time was starting to break for his friend. For the loss.  
“He’s aware. He’s the one who called me.”  
“Oh, I see.”  
“And the baby didn’t make it either.” Greg added. Sherlock spun on his heel and left the room. He needed a moment to regain control before John saw him break.  
“Fuck.” It was low growl. Sherlock cursed. He was human after all, but he felt that most of the words everyday people used to express their hatred or frustration too vulgar and common. It was the only word the Sherlock could come up with to encapsulate the entire scenario.  
“You said it.” Greg agreed.  
“We’ll be there.” Sherlock hung up the call and took a moment to put his game face back on. He didn’t need to seem emotionally compromised when he needed to see what had happened to Mary and to be at his best for John. John was finishing the tea in the kitchen when Sherlock came out of the bedroom.  
“What did Greg want?” John asked.   
“An accident. He would like us both at Bart’s. He is sending a car.” Sherlock managed to get out. Tears were threatening to spill out of his eyes and he turned and busied himself with his grey overcoat in an attempt to regain his composure for the second time in as many minutes. He had come to love Mary and he loved John. He knew this would break him.  
“I’ll get my coat.” John said. He grabbed his jacket from his old peg and trudged down the stairs. Sherlock was happy that John couldn’t see his face right then as he didn’t know how long he could hide it from John. His phone went off in his hand and he looked at a text message.  
“John? –MH” Mycroft right on cue. Sherlock was happy again for the distraction of his phone while he was in the car with John. It would save him from trying to look at John and John reading the devastation that Sherlock was sure was all over his face.  
Sherlock got into the waiting police car before responding. “In the car on our way to Bart’s. He doesn’t know. What do you know? – SH”  
“I am getting data now. Looks like an accident. A simple accident. No malice or fore thought. Meeting you at Bart’s. –MH”  
“Are you sure?- SH”  
“Meeting or out come?- MH”  
“Both.- SH”  
“Yes- MH”   
“Who are you conversing with?” John asked. Sherlock never texted long conversations and John was amazed at the length of this particular one. Sherlock’s phone made an incoming email alert and Sherlock’s long slender fingers flew across its screen.  
“Mycroft.” He spat.  
“Oh. So what’s on with this accident?” John asked. A typical doctor, he hated to go into any situation blind and he knew that Sherlock would have a lot of the answers already.  
“Looks like a typical accident. But Lestrade wants us any way.” Sherlock tried to sound neutral but the images he was pulling up on his emails from Mycroft were making that hard. CCTV caught the accident in full and Sherlock was devastated. He knew that John was going to be worse.  
“And Mycroft?” John asked.  
“Nothing really. Just asking questions.” He tried to keep the emotions out of his voice. Another incoming text alert.  
“Have the files arrived?- MH”  
“Yes. Looks innocuous enough. Simple accident. –SH”  
“Driver drunk. In holding cell. _MH”  
“Shall I assume proper court of law or court of Holmes?- SH”  
“We’ll cross that bridge later. ETA?- MH” Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment before responding.  
“Three minutes. We’ll go straight to Lestrade. Better coming from him and Molly. _SH”  
“Agreed. But do not let the doctor out of your sight. As much as it pains me to say, he’s going to need you brother. – MH”  
“Agreed.-SH”  
The police car pulled up at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital and John still got a small knot in his stomach every time he looked up and saw the roof. But this time he didn’t have half a chance. Lestrade was standing on the side walk with Molly. They both looked forlorn.  
“What is it?” John asked. Molly took his hand in hers and Greg began walking into the building.  
“John, there was an accident.” Greg began.   
“I know. Sherlock told me.” Greg’s face flashed to Sherlock before he realized that Sherlock told him only that.  
“Well, mate, there is more to it than that.”  
“There always is. Otherwise you wouldn’t have called.” John smirked. Molly gripped his hand. John’s posture stiffened. It wasn’t normal for Molly to show so much affection. Sherlock was very close to John. Almost close enough for John to feel the heat from his breath. He knew then there was something wrong. He recalled his hearing of the one side of the conversation between Sherlock and Lestrade.  
“Mary.” He said as he slowed his pace. Sherlock nearly bumped into him and Molly tugged a bit on his hand.  
“It was an accident. She was crossing the street when a drunk ran the light and hit her.” Greg said in a low voice. He stopped in front of John. John’s head sagged and his usually rigid military trained posture slumped.  
“Where?” John asked.  
“The corner of….” Greg started. John held up his hand.  
“Where. Is. My. Wife?” Molly began to cry and she made a little noise in the back of her throat. John snapped his head around to her and he understood. That’s why Molly was there. John’s eyes got very wide. He couldn’t raise his voice higher than a whisper. “Our baby?” Molly shook her head and John hit the floor. Sherlock hovered over him and checked his vitals. Molly raised her hands to her mouth and began to sob. Lestrade leaned against the wall and sagged.  
Sherlock noted he was breathing and after a moment he and Greg carried him to the sitting room off of the morgue proper. John began to come around. Sherlock was sitting at his side and John could feel his warmth. The rest of the room snapped to attention when they heard John moan.  
“Sherlock.” John said before he opened his eyes.  
“Yes, John.”  
“Please tell me that you medicated me in one of your insane experiments again and this is all a bad dream.”  
“I wish I could.” Sherlock said. John opened his eyes. Greg was leaning against a desk, twisting an unlit cigarette in his fingers. He looked to the left, and Molly was sitting in a chair, her eyes red and puffy. Mycroft was sitting as statuesque as ever in a chair and Anthea, his beautiful assistant was to his right, standing in impossible heels taping away on her phone. But it was Sherlock who was sitting next to him. Sherlock who was close to him. John felt the tears splash onto his hands before he knew he was crying. Sherlock offered him a handkerchief. John took it and wiped his face.  
“Would you like to see her?” Sherlock asked. It was gentle. It was soft. It was almost human. John knew it was bad when Sherlock sounded almost like everyone else on the planet. John nodded his head. Molly and Greg rose to go with him but Sherlock put his hand out and in one single downward motion told them to sit. He would do this. He would take the burden of being the one with John. He would be the one to face the great equalizer of death with John.  
 


	2. Am I Dreaming if I am Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock at the Morgue.

Chapter 2- Am I dreaming if I am awake?  
John and Sherlock knew Molly’s morgue as well as their own homes. They had spent hours in these rooms, together, solving crimes. But it was the first time it was personal to such a degree. John faintly felt as if he was reliving the day Sherlock jumped to save all that loved him. If he never saw this room of clinical things and impersonal metal drawers ever again, it would be too soon.  
Molly left Mary laying on the gurney. She was naked under the white sheet. But there were no traces of blood. No marks that could be seen. And her belly was small and flat under the sheet. John stopped half way to her and Sherlock stopped with him. Then Sherlock tentatively put his arm around John’s shoulders.  
“We don’t have to go any further if you don’t want to.” He told John gently. John whipped his head around and looked at the taller man next to him.  
“I need too.” Sherlock nodded and John could see the grief in his own face reflected back him in Sherlock’s eyes. He knew that he was hurting too. But John couldn’t process the information yet. He let Sherlock’s surprisingly strong arm propel him towards Mary. He felt Sherlock step back when they reached the body and he picked up his wife’s hand. It was soft and loving and he felt the loss of her spark. He turned and looked at Sherlock. There was a simple single tear rolling down from his blue green eyes. John turned back at his wife.   
“The baby?” John asked. He knew that Sherlock had the answers.  
“Here.” Sherlock drew John towards another gurney. There lay a small but perfectly formed infant. “A girl.”  
“Mary.” John managed to whisper before he broke down. Sherlock caught him in his arms and allowed his usually stiff frame soften enough to hold John as he sobbed into his coat. He held John and when his sobs died down, John pulled away from Sherlock.  
“What do you need?” Sherlock asked quietly when he was sure that John could answer him.  
“You.” Sherlock’s expression was confused. “I need you to be you. Tell me what you see.” Sherlock understood.  
“Are you sure?”  
“Positive.” Sherlock stepped away from John and took Mary’s hand in his own. He looked. He looked at the baby girl that was to be John and Mary’s first child. He stood back from them and looked at the ground. This was not normal for Sherlock. He faced the world head on. “Tell me.” Sherlock took a deep breath.  
“Mary Watson, 37, was crossing the street, carrying her child in utero. She was hit from the left by a small domestic car, driver, male who was hurrying home after a few pints of lager at the pub near his office. He was drunk and never saw her in the crosswalk. Mary was killed upon impact. The child as well. Neither suffered any pain. Cause of death for Mary is blunt force trauma. The infant perished from placenta abrupta.” John looked at the baby.  
“Her name is Jane.”  
“Jane.” Sherlock repeated. John began to cry small tears. Sherlock put his arm around him again and John pulled himself together enough to look at Sherlock.  
“I get why Greg and Molly are here. By why Mycroft?” Sherlock smiled a bit at John.  
“He’s the one who phone Lestrade. He knew before anyone else.”  
‘Bloody hell.” John said. He scrubbed his face with his hands. With one last fleeting look at Mary and Jane, he left the room, almost at a run. He just made it to the loo before he began to wretch his guts out. Sherlock gave him some space and texted on his phone. He was updating the others. Greg appeared with a bottle water. John rinsed out his mouth when the spasms had stopped and sat on the floor in the toilet.  
“I’m so sorry.” Greg said. John nodded without lifting his eyes up. Sherlock looked at Greg and Greg shook his head. They were both at a loss. Sherlock’s quick fingers sought out his phone again and Molly appeared in a moment’s time. She knelt down in front of John.  
“John?” she said. She took his hands in hers. “John, I’m so sorry. I know it hurts. I’m finished cleaning them up. Mycroft and Anthea have been working. The undertaker is coming in an hour if you are ready. I think the best thing for you is let Sherlock and Greg take you back to Baker Street. I have already called and spoken to Mrs. Hudson. I can give you something for sleep if you want. But this doctor is ordering you to go home. Grieve. I’ll be over as soon as I can.” John nodded.  
“Jane.” He managed to say. Molly and Greg looked from the broken man on the floor up to Sherlock.   
“The baby.” They both nodded in response to Sherlock’s statement. Sherlock helped John up and nearly carried him to the car.   
“Sherlock?” John asked when they were close to Baker Street.   
“Yes, John?”  
“Tell Molly her name is Jane Mary Watson. I want to make sure that the paperwork says that. Not infant girl Watson.”  
“Consider it done.”  
“I’ve seen too many death certificates without a proper name. She deserves a proper name.” John babbled. Greg turned from the driver’s seat.  
“It’s a beautiful name.” he told John. John nodded.  
Mrs. Hudson was standing on the stoop of the house and wringing her hand. One dark look from Sherlock and she put her usual histrionics on hold to help Greg and Sherlock get John upstairs and onto the sofa. John sat down with a thump and fell over. He curled up into a ball and put his back to his friends. They could see him shaking from the sobs that rose up again. Mycroft appeared at the door and they all went into the kitchen to speak in low voices.  
“How is he Sherlock?” Mrs. Hudson asked.  
“Not well.” He answered. He looked back over his shoulder at John and shook his head.  
“The funeral has been arranged. Anthea will send the details to your phone shortly.” Mycroft stated. Sherlock nodded and looked at his brother. All the usual issues between them melted for the moment when the most important thing was taking care of John. John the short, compact solider who was the rock that they all clung too.  
Sherlock put a tentative hand on Mycroft’s shoulder as Sherlock left the room. He needed a moment and Mycroft raised his hand to cover his brothers. It was as close to affection as the two of them ever got.  
This display sent Mrs. Hudson into a tizzy of tears and she left abruptly for her own flat. Greg looked around the kitchen for a moment and Mycroft nodded as he too took his leave. Greg lit a cigarette and drew deeply upon it. He grabbed a small plate as an ashtray and found one put in front of him as Sherlock joined him in a smoke.  
“Now what?” Greg asked. He looked tired and Sherlock turned so that he was almost sitting on the table. Greg leaned over it and put his head in his hands as his elbows supported him up.  
“I don’t know.” Sherlock answered honestly.  
“I need to get back to the office. I need to finish the reports.” Greg told Sherlock. Sherlock nodded and Greg stubbed out his cigarette. “Molly will be over later. I’ll call you before I go home. See if you need anything. And you’ll call me if you do.”  
Sherlock pondered this and nodded. He would lean on his friends at a time like this. His clinical brain was whirling trying to figure out the best path to help John next. What was the next step? He kept asking himself. He didn’t have the answer and it put him more than a little off balance. Greg put his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder for a moment and left out the door.   
The little flat was quiet and empty. John was quiet on the couch and Sherlock tipped toed into the sitting room. John was still lying in the same position, but his breathing indicated he was either asleep or near to it. Sherlock flopped into his chair and watched John.  
“How can I be awake, if this is a nightmare?” John asked, his voice muffled from the cushions. Sherlock felt his face grow wet with tears and his voice broke as he answered him.  
“Nightmares aren’t always just the stuff of dreams.” John rolled onto his other side to be able to see Sherlock more clearly.  
“Are we alone?” he asked. Sherlock nodded. “Good. Then where does Mycroft have the bloody bastard?”  
“I don’t know.” Sherlock answered. It was soft and quiet. John knew things were bad if Sherlock was introspective and quiet.  
“Sherlock, I’m scared.” John said. Sherlock looked at his friend. Their public friendship was completely different than the true friendship they hide from everyone else. John was the one person Sherlock could be raw and honest and open with. Without the drama. Without the superiority complex. Without all the attitude that came with being Sherlock. They spoke to each other without any malice or anything hidden. Sherlock was like everyone else in the world around John. He learned to let his guard down around John.  
John was a remarkable man. For as much as Sherlock had healed him, he healed Sherlock. There was the perception outside the walls of Baker Street. But when no one else was around, they were different with each other. When Sherlock had physically held John at the morgue it was closer to what they were used to. They hugged after small celebrations. They high fived each other and shook hands. Sherlock knew that what John needed now more than anything was to be held again. He needed to be in the arms of someone who loved him and could help through his grief.  
Sherlock got out of his chair and came to John. John sat up and let Sherlock put his arms around his friend. John sighed and let Sherlock hold him. But no more tears came. John was dry. He was raw and tired.  
“Me too.” Sherlock answered him. “You know I loved her as much as I do you.”  
“I know.” John answered and for a brief moment he knew that he wasn’t alone in his grief for Mary or Jane.   
“We’ll get through this together.” John nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry these chapters are so short. I'm just getting into the groove of things here and establishing the basics for the story. They are getting somewhat longer. And I promise they aren't that depressing for long. But death does make us all equal in the end.


	3. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock talk in the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like now I'm getting some where with the actual Johnlock.   
> I own the mistakes but not much else.  
> Thanks for reading and I would love to hear what you think!

Chapter 3- Alone  
Molly stopped by an hour later and found John and Sherlock sitting side by side on the couch. She had pulled herself together enough to take care of the release of the bodies, go to the local shop, grab some sports drinks, some take away and come to Baker Street. She let herself into the flat, as she had an emergency key from all the times that she had to come and check that Sherlock hadn’t hurt himself or had forgotten something at the flat he needed.   
Molly put her bags on the kitchen table and motioned for Sherlock to join her in the kitchen.  
“Put the shopping away.” She ordered him. It was rare she used what she called her Mum voice with him, but he rarely resisted when she did. Sherlock did as he was told and Molly grabbed her purse and a sports drink. She sat down next to John on the couch. She cracked the plastic lid and handed it to him.  
“You need to drink this.” She instructed. John took a tentative sip and pulled off of the bottle until half of it was gone. “As a doctor, between the vomiting and the crying you will end up dehydrated. There are more in the kitchen. I want you to keep drinking. Even if you don’t eat, please keep drinking.”  
“Thanks.” John said hoarsely. He admitted the wet liquid felt better on his tongue than he expected and he realized that she was right. Going without eating was one thing, but drinking was needed.   
“Mycroft arranged what I will expect to be the perfect service. Jane and Mary are being taken care of. “  
“What about clothes?” he asked. Molly shook her head. “I don’t think I can…. Can you?”  
“I just told you. It’s all taken care of.” John nodded his head in understanding. He heard Sherlock put the kettle on and he closed his eyes. He took another drink of the blue liquid Molly brought him.  
“I did something else.” She said. She reached in her purse and pulled out a small bag from a local druggist. The kind that had photo printers in them. She pulled out two perfect photos. “I don’t know if you want these now. But, some day you might.” John looked down at what she was holding. They were two photos of his new born daughter wrapped in a blanket. If he didn’t know better, he would think she was sleeping.  
“Thank you Molly.” She nodded her head and wiped her eyes. Sherlock brought in the tea tray and made a simple production of pouring them each a cup. He exchanged the blue bottle John was holding for a cup of tea. He handed one to Molly. She took a tentative sip and realized that not only had he made tea, he made her cup perfectly to her liking. He always retained the important information and she was touched that he retained her tea preference.  
Sherlock took his cup and stalked around the sitting room. John and Molly watched him with vacant eyes, each alone with their own thoughts. Sherlock appeared to be looking for something. He reached into the back of a shelf on the book case and pulled out a stack of two silver objects. He came and sat down on the floor in front of John. Gently he held out his hand for the photo graphs and John pushed his arm towards Sherlock. Sherlock took them from him and Molly recognized the objects he was looking for as two antique silver frames. Sherlock took great care to put the photos in them and presented them back to John.   
“They won’t ever be ruined this way.” Sherlock explained with a shrug. He folded his long legs underneath himself and sipped his tea. Molly looked at him in awe and smiled a bit. He tilted his head to the side and smiled a bit himself. John stared at his daughter, memorizing each detail.  
“I’m going to check in with Mrs. Hudson. Then I am going to take my leave.” Molly said. John put his hand on her arm.  
“Thank you for everything.” He managed to say. Molly hugged him tight to her and nodded.  
“Anything for you John.” She said. Sherlock popped up from the floor and walked her to the top of the stairs. They stood looking at each other for a minute. “Make sure he sleeps in a bed. Not on the sofa. Try to get him to eat and don’t forget to eat yourself. Keep him hydrated. I’m only a phone call away.” She told him. Sherlock did something uncharacteristically and took her into his arms.  
“Thank you Molly. I will take all your advice.” He whispered in her ear. “You are a good friend.” He paused “To both of us.” He pulled away with a kiss to her cheek and went back to John. Molly stood for moment, bewildered at this almost sentimental Sherlock and went on her way.  
Sherlock and John sat on the couch for a while longer, back in their same seats after Molly left. John was the first to stand. Sherlock looked panicked. John smiled at him.  
“Just need to use the loo.” He said. Sherlock ran every dangerous thing in the bathroom through his mind. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt myself,… today anyway.” He walked out of the room. Sherlock leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. He rubbed his face with his hands and let out a deep sigh. John came back into the room to see Sherlock sitting this way and put his arm around his friend’s back.  
“I know you will miss her too.” John said. He stifled a yawn looked at his watch. It was past nine in the evening and he was tired. He sat back on the couch and tried to decided what to do.  
“Do you want me to go with you back to your home?” Sherlock asked.  
“No.” John said. Sherlock looked a bit dejected. “No, Sherlock. I was thinking, if it was okay, that I would rather stay here tonight.”  
“Why wouldn’t it be okay?” Sherlock asked. He honestly didn’t understand it.  
“It’s your flat. I don’t live here anymore. I live with….” He stopped himself. Sherlock saw the realization come over his face again and John began to cry again. When it had subsided, Sherlock was once again holding John.  
“I’m done in.” John said. Sherlock yawned himself. His body was known not to sleep much, but emotional trauma was much harder on the body than physical. He needed to sleep himself.  
“As am I.” John stood up and grabbed the bottle of blue that Molly had given him. He finished it in one go and went to the door.  
“Thank you.”  
“For what?”  
“For being there. For being my friend. For letting me cry. For helping me.” John said. Sherlock smiled a sad smile at John.  
“What are best friends for?” he answered and John nodded and went back to his old room upstairs.   
Once he heard John settle into the bed, Sherlock stretched his long slender frame out on the sofa. It was the perfect length to just contain him and he often lay there lost in thought. But tonight he felt nothing. Numb and it was heart breaking. He began to quietly sob. For the loss of Jane, the segregate niece that he never got to know and marvel at. For Mary. The new friend he cherished. For John. For John’s loss. For John’s heart break. He wondered if John would ever be okay again. He would figure out how to help him heal in the morning, but tonight, he grieved for them all.  
Sherlock slept fitfully on the sofa, not quite comfortable. But it was the screams that came from John’s room at the top of the stairs that had him sit bolt upright. Sherlock and John had shared the flat for years and even at the worst of John’s nightmares had he never screamed. Sherlock flew up the stairs, two at a time and as fast as his long legs would carry him. He threw open the door and pulled the screaming John into his arms. The screams stopped and the sobs started. Sherlock had changed into a tee shirt and sleep pants and his favorite blue silk dressing gown. John’s wet face was dampening the fabric and he rocked John gently as he cried into his chest. John’s sobs turned into hiccups and finally died to nothing. Sherlock loosened his grip and John lay down on the bed again. Sherlock sat on the edge for a moment and handed John a tissue for his face.  
“I’m sorry if I woke you.” John said, his mouth dry and his voice thick from crying.  
“It’s fine.” Sherlock turned to look out of the door.  
“Would you do something for me?” he asked.  
“Anything.”  
“Stay here for a while.” John moved over and Sherlock lay down in the warm spot John had just vacated. “It’s been a long time since I slept alone.”  
They both lay staring at the ceiling for a while, neither one able to speak, alone with their thoughts.   
“Talk to me please Sherlock. I can’t stand the quiet.”  
“Only if I can ask you something.”  
“Anything.”  
“I’ll hold you to that.” Sherlock said. John sniggered a bit. They fell into silence again.  
“Oh, bloody hell. I can hear the questions rattling in your head. Just spit them out for God’s sake. I’m so emotionally mixed up there is nothing that can offend me tonight.” Sherlock looked at John from the corner of his eye.  
“When I…. When I was….” He couldn’t quite figure out how to start.  
“When you were gone…” John said.  
“Yes. When I was gone, was it like this for you?”  
“What are you playing at?” John asked. There was no malice in his voice. He was genuinely curious.  
“I like Mary. I tolerate you. And I know that you tolerate me as well. We are friends and we care about each other. I am just trying to figure out, and I know that I am being selfish, but I need to know. Did I put you though this too?” his voice was soft and quiet. John rolled onto his side and put his hand and Sherlock’s arm.  
“In some ways, yes. In other’s no. Yes, I more than tolerate you. We are friends. I care about you deeply. But at that point there no one else in my life. So, I did grieve for you. I was angry for a long, long time. I was. But with Mary it feels different. It wasn’t just her. It was Jane too. An innocent life. A person that will not be able to grow and live. She never took a breath outside of her mother. And I helped create that person.” John sighed and Sherlock turned over onto his side to see John’s face.  
“John?”  
“Yes, Sherlock?”  
“You have changed me. Mary changed me. And even Jane changed me.”  
“I know.”  
“No, I don’t think you do.”  
John let out a low breath. He wasn’t sure how much more emotional turmoil he could handle in one day, but letting Sherlock talk was better than being alone with his thoughts.  
“I want to tell you things, but I’m not sure how you will feel.”  
“For fuck’s sake Sherlock. I don’t care anymore. There is nothing but a black pit where my heart usually is. Fill it up. Pour more dirt in it. I don’t fucking care. It’s can’t get much worse. I lost my best friend. I lost my wife. I lost my daughter. I lost my sister. I lost my parents. I lost patient after patient on the battle field. I lost comrades. My life is nothing but loss.”   
Sherlock sat up and propped himself up against the headboard. He crossed his legs at the ankles and took in what John was telling him. He processed it all. “You’re wrong.”  
“And pray tell, why is that?” Sherlock was becoming exasperating and John was grateful. This was an emotion he was used to dealing with.  
“Your heart isn’t black. It’s larger than life and dancing red before us. You loved. You are loved. And yes, life turned cruel and took things from you. But when you lost me, you found Mary. And you lost your parents, but you had Harry. You lost Harry and found me. And now, I am here for you. We will get through this together.”  
“I hope you are right.”  
“I am.”  
“Tosser.” Sherlock smiled. John rolled on his back again. “I don’t feel like you’re done.”  
“I’m not. But this is harder. John.” He sat with his fingers steepled under his chin. “When we first met, I was a recovering addict with too much time, attitude and not enough routine. Everything was too much. Too many people. Too much light. Too much noise. I had learned to filter it when I had too. At school. In University. With Lestrade. When I was focused on a case I could filter better. I could concentrate on what the puzzle was and that was good. But the down time was harder to fill. Harder to filter. You taught me how to stop filtering and how to cope. How to look for breakfast in the morning, dinner in the evening and even the crap on the tellie. You showed me how to take down the walls that I had built up and how to be, God forgive me, but normal. That there was something there that was brilliant. I will never deny that. But that there was beauty in the ordinary too. I endured a lot while I was away. But I would replay our days in my head. Our talks and our days of being together. That is what helped get me through.” Sherlock paused for a breath.  
“But when I did return I saw that you found help too. In Mary. That she grounded you and gave you someone to love when I wasn’t there. I was grateful to her for that. I still am and will always be. And I came to see that she was lovely too. She didn’t take my crap either, although she was a lot more forceful than you at times. She cut me down to size very quickly. When I first deduced Jane, I was in awe. I was in awe of the two of you.”  
“For what? Having a good shag?”  
“No. For having the courage to be parents. For having the ability to want and the desire to bring another human into this world. I relaxed. I’ve never relaxed in my life. I wanted to be a good person so that you would bring her around to see me. That I could see how a child changed in front of me. How it changed the people it touched.”  
“A grand experiment.”  
“In a way. But all in all the three of you humanized me.”  
“And. There is always an and.” Sherlock looked out of the door again. John waited until Sherlock was ready to speak again.  
“And. Yes. But I don’t want to talk about that yet.”  
“Why the hell not?”  
“I think this has already been too much.” John lay still and Sherlock continued to look out of the door. John’s stomach growled to break the silence of the room.  
“I think Molly brought us a cold chicken and some noodle dish.” Sherlock said. I’ll eat if you do.” He knew that it was good card to deal with at this point.  
“Okay.” John said tentatively. He was always afraid when Sherlock agreed to eat. Or sleep. John stood up from the bed and walked around towards the door. Sherlock grabbed his hand and stopped him. He stood up from the bed and pulled John into a hug. John hugged him back and felt Sherlock put his chin on the top of John’s head. Sherlock let go and walked down stairs. John felt alone for the first time since he awoke.  
 


	4. Giggles and Sleep Depervation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock continue to deal with the grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear it stops getting depressing soon and we get into major feels.... but I have to go where the story takes me. I am editing as fast as I can with the story still flowing.....  
> Thanks for reading and comments are appreciated.

Chapter 4- Giggles and Sleep Deprivation

Cold chicken and cold noodles were gone, but so was all the biscuits, the crisps, the few cakes John had hidden and last of the grapes that were in the flat. Sherlock had a sweet tooth and John often hid treats as sort of a game for him to find. If they were gone John felt better that he had at least eaten something. The two men lounged in the arm chairs sated and bloated.  
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat that much at once.” John said. Sherlock laughed.  
“I don’t. Usually.” Sherlock said. He looked around the room and stood up to gather up the dished and other assorted items, but sat back down on the sofa. “Emotions are draining.”  
“Yup.” John said. He felt like a wrung out rag. But at least he ate. He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly five in the morning. He didn’t want to go back to sleep for fear of more nightmares. And if Sherlock slept even half as long as he did, he was good for the day.  
“We need to do something.” John announced.   
“You don’t want to sleep?” Sherlock asked lazily.  
“I do. I’m tired. But I’m scared out of my wits.” Sherlock nodded his head. He figured that his dream was really bad to not want John to sleep.   
“Cluedo!” Sherlock announced. John groaned. “I’ll play properly as per the silly little rules on the box.”  
“Fuck no.” John was so tired he went beyond his normal rules of cursing hard over nothing.  
“What about…..”  
“I know. This is one that I’ve always wanted to see you do.” John grabbed the remote to the television and turned on the morning news. He turned off the sound and just had the pictures flickering in front of them. “When we were kids, Harry and I would turn off the sound on the tellie and make up what the people were saying. I want to hear you do it.”  
“But John, I know what they are saying.”  
“Not reading their lips. Like this. See I know that she is talking about the new baby bear at the zoo. But I would tell Harry that she was really talking about this poor family in the country whose child was so hairy it looked like a bear and that the government kidnapped it and put it in the zoo. And they family was fighting to get their child back.” Sherlock looked at the program and back at john.  
“That’s preposterous.”  
“Nope. It’s silly.”  
“Yes. You are right. It’s silly.”  
“Now you do one.” The picture had shifted to a story about the Queen’s upcoming birthday.  
“Okay, well, let’s see, Mycroft has finally decided that it was high time to show the world what he truly is. A transvestite who prefers his drag as the Queen. Being in a minor position in the government has given him time over the years to steal an item or two. Nothing major to go missing. A hand bag here. Shoes there. A girdle. And now he’s jumping out of the closet.” Sherlock watched the pictures change again. John sat still and quiet for a moment. Then he started to giggle. That grew into a laugh and he spent the next ten minutes laughing until he cried.  
Sherlock joined in his laughter, as the deep sound resonated off of the walls of their flat and they were both giddy with it before long. When they were down to a few chuckles each and a smirk on each of their faces, Sherlock’s phone rang. He withdrew it from his dressing gown pocket and showed the screen to John who burst out again in a fit of laughter. It was Mycroft.  
“The Queen himself.” Sherlock managed to get out between peals of laughter as he slid the bar over to answer.   
“Sherlock? What is that noise?” Mycroft asked as Sherlock tried to stop laughing long enough to speak.  
“Ears burning?”  
“Excuse me?”  
“John and I were just talking about you.” John was snickering in the background and Sherlock was shaking from silent laughter.  
“Well, I see.” Mycroft wasn’t often flustered. But sounds of them laughing had him concerned.  
“Is there something pressing you needed to speak about or, are you just calling to tell me that you loath and despise me?”  
“I was calling to…. I was wondering….” Mycroft stopped and cleared his throat. Sherlock stilled his laughed and realized his brother was unable to find words for the first time in his life. “Did you receive the emails regarding the funeral arrangements?”  
“I did.” Sherlock’s words were short and efficient. He could tell his brother was fighting an emotional outburst of some kind and wanted to spare both himself and his brother the embarrassment.  
“Good. Than….”  
“Yes. Good.” Sherlock breathed deep and got up from the sofa. We went into the kitchen. “We are fine. He is fine.”  
“Well, then, I shall leave you to it.” Mycroft said as he hung up the phone. Sherlock shook his head and went back into the sitting room. John was sleeping by hanging his head on the arm to the sofa. Sherlock decided to sit in his chair and maybe, just maybe he would fall asleep too. He settled in when John’s body began to twitch on the settee. He was sure a night mare was beginning to pull at the edges of the much needed sleep and Sherlock didn’t want to see John go back to that state. He would have to speak to Molly about some medication to help him sleep without dreaming. But for now he needed to make sure that John got a little rest before he went into a full on nightmare.  
Sherlock picked up his violin and tested each string for its tone. They were in tune. He picked up his bow and drew it’s hairs across the strings. He chose a quiet song, almost a lullaby. One he had learned to hush Jane to sleep. One he hoped to play for her and Mary when they came to visit him. He felt his heart aching as he played and felt a puddle of tears under his chin as he finished the song. But the quiet nature of the haunting melody was enough to wake John gently.  
“Did I fall asleep?” John asked.  
Sherlock nodded and dried his eyes. He put down his violin and walked over to sit next to John.  
“We’re a pair aren’t we?” John said to no one in particular.  
“What does that mean?” Sherlock asked. He honestly had the look of someone who couldn’t figure out how Father Christmas came into the house. John sniggered. For a bloody genius, Sherlock could be dumb at times. John’s snigger came into a giggle and before long he was laughing again. Sherlock looked at John as if he had finally gone mental. “John, what is so funny?”  
“You are.” John answered in between bursts of laughter. Sherlock still hadn’t understood what was so funny. He shrugged and got up from the sofa. John was quiet but still having a bit of a shake to his torso from his silent laughter. Sherlock sat down at his laptop on the desk and began to type away. He read, typed, read typed. John knew this pattern and settled into the routine of watch him answer emails. John flopped his body across the sofa.  
“What would you like to do today?” Sherlock asked from the chair by the window. John shrugged.  
“I haven’t thought that far ahead.”  
“Would you like to find a case to keep us occupied?” Sherlock was trying to pacify John.  
“No. I really don’t feel like fixing someone else’s life when mine is gone.” Sherlock went back to his computer.  
“I think that at some point we should both have a wash and get dressed. There should be some routine to our days.” Sherlock said. John shrugged again.  
“Can’t I just be miserable today?” he asked. Sherlock looked up at John across the room. He thought about his answer.   
“I don’t know how to answer that.” He told John.  
“Is it as all bad as this?” John asked off handedly.   
“As bad as what?” Sherlock asked.  
“Violins, you being somewhat of a normal comforting human being. Molly bringing us food. You and Mycroft being civil to each other. You even called Lestrade not only by his first name, but correctly. Am I that fragile?” Sherlock got up from the chair he was sitting in so fast it up ended. John raised his head from the sofa and looked at Sherlock. He could tell that he was in for some sort of rant.  
Sherlock walked quietly over to the sofa and lay down on the floor next to it. “We are scared for you.”  
“For me?”  
“That’s the way Greg explained it to me. That’s he’s worried about you, but what he meant was he’s scared. He’s scared after the way you reacted when I ….. Well, they are afraid that this will happen worse this time. That the loss of Mary and Jane will break you.” John scrubbed his face with his hands. Sherlock moved a bit closer to him and wasn’t sure if he needed to put his arm around his shoulder or not. John got up carefully but quickly from the sofa and stalked around the sitting room. It was unlike John to be so full of nervous energy.  
“I was lost when you left.” John whispered. “It almost killed me. But Mary brought back what I was.”  
“I know.”  
“I’m wrecked. Truly wrecked. I have my friends. I have Harry. I have you. But Mary was the one person I supposed to grow old with. The one that laid herself out for me. The one that I was going to parent Jane with. And Jane…. Oh my sweet girl.” John stopped moving and put his hands up to his face. Sherlock sat up and pulled his knees closer to himself. He knew John was crying. It was at that moment that Molly decided to let herself in again. Dropping her bags on the floor, almost on top of Sherlock, she ran to John pulling him into an embrace.   
Molly cooed in John’s ear and pulled him to his chair. She sat on the arm as he let loose a new flood of sobs. Sherlock could not bear it any longer. He got up from the floor and went into the kitchen. He leaned on the table and lit a cigarette. He needed to focus on breathing or he would be a wreck too. He didn’t think Molly needed to comfort both of them at that moment. John needed her more.   
Sherlock recomposed himself just as Molly entered the kitchen. She put a tentative hand on Sherlock’s arm and led him to his bedroom. John just sat and stared.  
“How bad was the night?” she asked. She had never been in this room with Sherlock before and finally seeing him there she knew that it was all his.  
“It was not pleasant.” Sherlock stated simply.  
“I figured as much.” She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small brown bottle of pills. “One and he will sleep for hours.”  
“No dreams?” Sherlock asked taking the bottle from Molly.  
“No dreams.” Sherlock nodded his understanding.  
“Would you sit with him while I bathe?” he asked. Molly nodded as she left the room. Sherlock put the pills on his table and went into the bathroom.  
After a hot shower and a change of clothes, Sherlock felt a little more normal. His overburdened stomach felt better from some digestion and he noticed that the pill bottle had moved. He tried to recall how long he had been in the shower and figured that his clock was slightly askew. He walked into the sitting room to find that Molly had tidied everything up and that John was nowhere to be found. He raised an eyebrow in question at her.  
“I gave him a tablet. He’s quite solidly asleep.” She said. Sherlock nodded. “I see that you ate.”  
“We did. Thank you for the food.” He said.  
“It was my pleasure.” She answered. “He should sleep for a while. Why don’t you try to get some sleep yourself.”  
“I’m not at all tired.”  
“Sherlock, you are dead on your feet.” Sherlock realized that he was. He was swaying a bit and his head was light. “You know what happens when you are sleep deprived.”  
“We are both sleep deprived.” Sherlock said with a wave of his hand. Molly nodded.  
“I will be back after work.” She said. Sherlock nodded and she left without another word.


	5. Suits, TIes and Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock learns there is more than meets the eye.

Chapter 5- Suits, Tie and Lies  
John slept until late into the evening and Sherlock too caught a few hours of rest. After a small meal, John took another tablet and slept until day break. Sherlock occupied his time, always with a listening ear for John. Molly and Greg stopped by, but when they found that John was resting, they left after reminding Sherlock that there were a few things that John still had to do.  
“I know that he has clothes here, but he needs a suit for tomorrow. You will need to go with him to his home. Get him a few things and return.” Greg said.  
“Why can’t one of us just get it for him?” Sherlock asked. It was a logical solution. “Spare John from ever having to return to the house.”  
“He needs to go. He needs to be there. To deal with the emotions that come from being around their things again. Better to do it now than later.” Molly explained. Sherlock took a deep breath and released it slowly.  
“Mycroft could take care of everything. Pack it all up and send it away.”  
“That’s not going to help John.” Greg said. He was getting frustrated with Sherlock’s apparent inability to help his friend.  
“It would save him from reopening any wounds.”  
“But it doesn’t help.” Molly echoed Greg. “Trust me on this.” Sherlock acquiesced. They would go around to the flat the next day.  
John awoke feeling better, but melancholy. He knew that the pain would never go away, but like his wounded shoulder each day would become more tolerable. He stretched in his bed and went down in search of the loo and a cup of tea. Sherlock had one hot and on the table next to his chair when John came out of the bathroom. Sherlock was slouching in his arm chair with a cup of his own.  
“Did you sleep?” john asked as he sat in the chair.  
“A bit. You?”  
“Those tablets of Molly’s were fantastic. Almost like the anesthesia they gave me for my shoulder. I feel better.”  
“Hummm.” John shot Sherlock a look.   
“You may not take one.” He warned. Sherlock gave him a mock pout and then smiled.  
“I am glad you are feeling better. There is something that we need to do today.”  
“And what is that?” John asked. He sipped his hot tea and sank further back into the cushions.  
“We need to go to your flat.” John took a deep breath and nodded. “You can stay here as long as you like. But you will need to go to get a few things. Lestrade and Molly think its best that we go together. Otherwise, I would have taken care of everything.”  
“I agree.” John said. Sherlock raised his eyebrow in question and John shook his head. “I need to go. I need to begin to close up that life.”  
“Good. Then finish your tea, we will dress and be on our way.”  
“I made decision last night.” John stated when they were in the cab on their way to the house he shared with Mary.  
“And what was that?”  
“I decided that I am moving back to Baker Street.”  
“Good.”  
“But I need some help.”  
“If you think that I am helping you move your ruddy sofa up those stairs….” Sherlock began. John giggled.  
“No. I want to go back to the house now, take a few things. Things I need now. And in a week or two, get a few more things. I think by myself at that point. And then one more trip. After that, I will needed the help to get rid of….”  
“The last of the remaining items.” Sherlock neatened it up with a bow.  
“Exactly.” John looked out of the window for some time as the cab drove through central London. “What does Mycroft have planned?”  
“Tonight is the viewing. Then tomorrow is the funeral. They will be interred in the Holmes family plot.”  
“Near where you…”  
“Yes.” Sherlock became quiet.  
“Fast.” John said. He cleared his throat. “It’s all so fast.”  
“Better this way.”  
“I guess.” John sighed and grinned to himself a little. Sherlock knitted his eye brows and looked at him. “Mary would have liked the irony of me going to see her grave where you were.”  
“Hmm. Irony.”  
The cab pulled up in front of the Watson’s home. Sherlock got out of the cab, paid the cabbie but John couldn’t seem to move. Sherlock grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the cab.  
“Cheers.” John unlocked the door and stood looking into the entry. Sherlock propelled him into the flat with an exasperated sigh.  
“I know this is hard. But it’s like a mission. Get in, get out with minimal damage.” John nodded. He held his keys in his hand looking at the door to their flat.  
“What are we retrieving on this mission?” John asked as he steeled his shoulders.  
“Two suits, shirts, shoes, ties and any other personal items you need. I think you need more clothing at Baker Street, but we can wait on that. Any items of Mary’s or Jane’s you wish to have with you or with them. Photographs.”  
“A very specific list.” Sherlock nodded.  
“Molly sent it to me.” Sherlock stated sheepishly. John nodded. He took the keys and opened the door to the flat. Sherlock stepped in after John. John seemed rooted to the spot. Sherlock looked around and saw that there was still a tea cup on the table near the sofa. Most likely Mary’s from the flower pattern on the china. John went over and picked it up. He held it in his hands as he sat down in the sofa. Sherlock realized that this was going to take longer than he originally planned.  
“John.” He said softly as he sat on the low table in front of him. “Would you like me to gather what we need to retrieve?” John stared at the tiny roses painted on the white cup and nodded. “Is there anything of Mary’s or Jane’s…?”  
“I will get them.” John said. Sherlock nodded and got up. He went to the bed room, opened the cupboard and began to select clothing for John. He efficiently ran around the room picking up items he knew John would want. John came into the bedroom with a few items in his hands. He placed them in the bag that Sherlock was neatly packing. Sherlock stopped and looked at what was placed in the bag. A few framed photos, a few candid shots of John and Mary, Mary and other friends, the wedding, the china cup with a bit of dried tea in it, a small pair of white knitted baby boots, a silver rattle, and a pink blanket of such soft expensive material it could have only come from Mycroft. John wandered around the bedroom and picked up Mary’s perfume bottle, her hair brush and an oversized tees shirt that she must have been sleeping in. He dumped them in the bag and John looked longingly at the bed. It was neatly made and John seemed to be looking for her there.  
“John, do you need a moment?” Sherlock asked unsure what else to do. He was finished with the packing and John shook his head with the smallest of movements.  
“I’m afraid that if you leave me alone in here, I will lay down on her pillow, breath in the scent of her and I will never get up again.” Sherlock was unsure how to proceed. He thought that maybe honesty was best.  
“I have finished the packing. Maybe it’s time to go back to Baker Street.” John nodded and with one last fleeting look, he let Sherlock pull him out of the flat and into a cab that he hailed.  
John took the bag of items up to his room as soon as they arrived and shut the door. Sherlock went into the sitting room and sat down in his chair. He stared at the empty space in front of him, not thinking, not feeling. Just staring. Lestrade found him like this twenty minutes later. Sherlock who could tell who was coming to visit before they even turned onto Baker Street had not heard him coming into the flat.  
“Where is John?” he asked. Sherlock didn’t answer. “Sherlock?”  
“He’s been like that since we came back from my flat.” John answered from the kitchen. Greg rubbed his hands over his face and turned to see John. He looked sad, but rested.  
“Has he moved, spoken anything?”  
“No. I’ve seen this before.” John stated. “He’s trying to reset or something. It usually lasts about an hour. Especially with something that is fairly ordinary for us. If he doesn’t come around in about half an hour, I know how to wake him.” John seemed better with something to watch over. But he was always watching over Sherlock. Greg nodded his head.  
“Resetting?” Greg asked as the two men sat on the sofa, pulling on their beers and watching Sherlock just sit.  
“Yeah. At least that’s as close as I can describe it.”  
“When else has he done this?” Greg asked.  
“After really bad cases. After that time I was nearly stabbed. After Mary and I came back from our honeymoon.”  
“Should I be calling for a drug search?” Greg asked. He was serious and worried. Sherlock had been known to go back to his illicit drug habit over less. John took a long pull on his beer and shook his head.  
“This isn’t high. I’ve seen him high. This is his way of coping with emotions. He can’t handle the unexpectancy of them. He’s stuffed them down for so long that he doesn’t know how to cope with the highs and lows. So, he shuts down for a while and when he comes back, he’s better. Balanced.”  
“And why… what… how…” Greg couldn’t begin to try to formulate questions from all the things rattling around in his head. John smiled a bit.  
“I know. It’s hard to understand. But I think that at some point, something happened to the young Sherlock. I think that he had been a bright, but normal child. Someone or something showed him that emotions were not…. Well… that’s the hard part. Acceptable? No. Appropriate? No. Something akin to a weakness. So, he tends to shove them into a dark place. But we know Sherlock. We have seen that he is emotional. He is caring. He is very much a normal emotional person. But he doesn’t know how to process them.” Lestrade considered this for a while and took a drink from the amber bottle in his hand.  
“I know that Sherlock is emotional. I’ve been on the receiving ends of sulks, tirades and anger. But a caring Sherlock? I don’t see that.”  
John smirked with a noise in the back of his throat. “But he is caring. That’s the thing. He doesn’t always realize that he is. Yes, he’s brilliant at solving a puzzle. He’s rough with us, but he jumped to save us. He’s gentle with Molly and Mary. He is caring. But when it gets to be too much for him, he justs…”  
“Shuts it all out.” Greg finished. John nodded and Greg could see John’s point. “A caring Sherlock….” Greg whispered shaking his head at the thought.  
“Do you have any idea what might have happened?” John shrugged his shoulders.  
“I figured I could always ask Mycroft….” John shuddered at the thought. Sherlock was not his favorite topic of conversation with Mycroft. It was usually such an odd conversation.  
“Well, how much fun can we have before we wake him up?” Greg asked. John looked at the DI and realized that he was thinking of school boy pranks. “Have you ever done anything to him when he is like this?”  
John laughed. “The first couple of times I saw this, I was scared shitless, to be honest. I just sat and watched for signs of life. After that, I took full advantage of the quiet and read or watched tellie. Once I even rearranged all the kitchen cupboards and threw out at least three things that were growing in them that I don’t even want to know about.” John shuddered at the memory.  
“I knew it was you.” Sherlock accused from across the room. John sighed and sat back and Greg nearly jumped at the voice.  
“You knew he was listening, didn’t you?” Greg asked. John smiled and nodded.  
“Dr. Watson is a better detective than you.” Sherlock stated. He rose from his chair in one fluid motion and looked at his watch. “Gentlemen, I do suggest that we begin to change our clothes. We have less than thirty minutes until Mycroft’s minions come with transport to the funeral home.” John swigged the last of his beer and Sherlock lifted one eyebrow at him.  
“My wife and child just died. I am burying them tomorrow. My doctor told me to stay hydrated. So I am.” He said pitching the bottle into the bin. Sherlock shook his head and went into his room. Greg said his goodbyes stating he would join up with them shortly.  
Sherlock was putting his overcoat on when John met him on the landing. John had the blanket, boots and a few pictures in his hands. Sherlock noted his posture was ram rod straight. It was odd to see John in a suit and not in his normal jumper. They nodded at each other and went down the stairs to the waiting black car that belonged to the fleet of Mycroft. John’s breathing was shallow and ragged. Sherlock looked at him and saw the man was in pain.  
“Are you alright?” John’s voice broke the silence and startled Sherlock.  
“Me?”  
“No, the driver?” John smiled a bit and shook his head. “Of course you.” Sherlock chewed on his lip for a moment and John’s smiled faded. Sherlock was not known for chewing on his lip.  
“I’m fine. Better than I was. But you know that. Why?”  
“It’s the look in your eyes.” John said. “Something is there.” Sherlock was pensive. John was sure that it was the correct answer. Pensive.  
“Worry.” It was almost a whisper on a breeze. John wasn’t at first sure he had heard it.  
“Worry?”  
“Yes, John. I’m worried.” Sherlock snapped. He stared out the window and John understood. Sherlock wasn’t good at taking care of someone else and he was worried. John looked out his window and sighed.   
“Sherlock, I’m going to be upset. I am going to be emotional. But, I will heal. I will. I….” Sherlock turned to John. His eyes were filled with tears. He was struggling and John sighed.   
“I know.”  
“Then stop worrying. It’s not something you are good at.”  
“But there is something gnawing at the back of my head.” Sherlock said. John could see that Sherlock was unsettled.  
“What then?”  
“I’m not sure. And that’s what really has me worried.” John nodded as they pulled up to the funeral home. John went inside and was guided to the coffins. He was staring at the two small bodies. Mycroft had out done himself with the swiftness of the arrangements. Sherlock sat down next to his brother. Mycroft put his phone away and looked at his brother.  
“What is it?” he asked in a droll way.  
“There is something you aren’t telling me.” Sherlock was sure of it now.  
“And what is it?” Mycroft was goading him.  
“I’m not sure. But I am sure you are hiding something.”  
“You always think that.”  
“But there is something….” Sherlock looked at his brother. “It wasn’t an accident?” he said.  
“No.” A simple word. But it spoke volumes.   
“When did you figure out?”  
“Yesterday. I found a small connection.” Sherlock smiled a bit. There was nothing neat and tidy about this. “I will send you the file.” Mycroft sighed.  
“Yes.”  
Mycroft and Sherlock ended their discussion and stood up. They went through the proper motions for John at the wake. They shook hands and patted backs. The pair of Holmes brothers were the picture of manners. Sherlock slumped into the car that was taking him and John back the flat at the end of the evening. John looked exhausted.  
“You want to stop to get some take away?” Sherlock asked in the car. He needed to make sure that John ate. And drank. Those were his orders.  
“Ta. But no. I’m tired. I plan on taking one of Molly’s lovely little tablets and sleeping away the night. I need to turn my brain off.”  
“I understand that.” Sherlock said. He stifled a yawn. But he knew that Mycroft was sending the file over and he was jumping at the opportunity to see what his brother had seen.  
John was as good as his word and went to bed after swallowing one of the little tablets. Sherlock changed out of his suit and sat on the sofa with the case file. Pictures, police reports and screen shots from the accident. Sherlock dismissed these as he had already seen them. But the CCTV screen shots of the pub. Of the two men emerging. Of Mary walking her same path every day. There was something else. Sherlock studied it until he had committed it to memory. He left the file on the table and lay down on the sofa to think.  
Sherlock woke up to pages turning and came to recognize John’s presence in the room.  
“John,” he said.  
“What’s this?”  
“It’s Mycroft’s”  
“Is there anything more?” Sherlock looked at John. John was upset. He never intended for John to see these photograph.  
“John, please let me have the file.” John shook his head. He got up and put a flame to it and burned it in the sink. Sherlock sighed and sat up.  
“Is there something more than what I saw?” John asked as he watched the file burn in the sink. His hand were white where he gripped on the sides of the while enamel.  
“Not that I can see. An ordinary accident.” Sherlock looked out the window as he lied to John.  
“Fine then.” John stalked into the bathroom and Sherlock heard the shower turn on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, this is where the case begins to take shape. Couldn't have a Sherlock Holmes story without a case now could we.....


	6. Loose Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the game begins....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one. The next few chapters are in editing. It's harder to edit some of the next few. Things are changing at 221 B Baker Street.  
> I own my mistakes and the story owns me. But the characters.... they are only being borrowed.  
> Please, any comments as to how things are going so far.... Thanks and enjoy!

Chapter 6- Loose Ends  
After the service at the grave, Mycroft allowed John to be bundled in the back of one of his long black cars with Mrs. Hudson, Greg and Molly. He grabbed Sherlock’s arm and wouldn’t allow him to get in the car.  
“I think it’s full.” Mycroft stated. Sherlock nodded. Mycroft’s car pulled up and the brothers got into the back. “Did you see the file?”  
“Yes.”  
“And?”  
“What?”  
Mycroft blew out an exasperated breath. “Did John see it?”  
“Yes.”  
“I thought so. What did you tell him?”  
“That you were being big brother and there was nothing there.”  
“And did he believe you?”  
“I think so.” Sherlock said matter of factly. “He burned it.”  
“Good. Now, what did you see?”  
“The man in the pub. He looks familiar. There was something foreign and problematic about him.”  
“And the shots of Mary on her way home across that same path daily.” Mycroft stated. He was trying to string it together for his brother. Sherlock looked at him with a face full of spite.  
“Yes. I noted that someone was watching her. Not the house. Not Baker Street. Not the surgery. But her on the street. The way she was when she was alone and unguarded.” Mycroft nodded.  
“Did you read her file I sent over a few months ago?” Sherlock nodded. Mary had not been the good girl they all thought she was. Even Sherlock was impressed with her resume.   
“I assume that her old life came up to bite her.” Mycroft sneered at Sherlock’s choice of words and Sherlock didn’t try to hide his thrill that it appalled his brother.  
“I think that is a correct assumption. However, the question remains if it is finished or is there other issues that might arise.” Sherlock sucked on his bottom lip.  
“Good question that only time will tell.” They had arrived at Baker Street. Sherlock watched as John exited the car in front of him. He sighed as he got out of the car and went into the flat. Mycroft sped off and left Sherlock to his thoughts and his friends.  
John needed the flat full of company. The friends ordered John’s favorite take away curry and sat around telling stories of Mary and John, of John and Sherlock and after some time, John grew quiet. He was sitting in his chair with half a bottle of beer between his fingers, twirling it slowly.  
“When I was young, about seven or eight, my parents were having a good streak. It was rare.” He spoke to no one really in particular. Everyone’s eyes were on him. “My mother announced that she was going to have a baby. Harry was closer to ten and understood that we were going to have a baby in the house. She was thrilled. My mother seemed good. My father was a bit upset about it in rare moments that he thought no one was watching him. But the expectation of another life in the house was fairly good. My father had slowed his drinking and my mother would sing in the kitchen as she worked.  
“About two months before the baby was due, my mother was walking home from the market with a few things. She loved to walk to the market. She said it made her feel good. She was hit from behind by a young girl who had just turned legal and was celebrating her liberation. We lost the baby and my mother survived. She took her life three months later after my father began drinking again.” John looked at the bottle in his hand and got up from the chair. He poured it down the drain and went up his room and shut the door. Everyone watched John go upstairs, but no one stirred.  
“Did you know that?” Greg asked Sherlock. Sherlock looked out the window near where he was standing and nodded his head slowly. “Does he know that you know?”  
Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and scrubbed his hand with his face. Molly put her wine glass down on the table and sat back into Sherlock’s chair.  
“He’s always been careful with drinking and his emotions. He’s afraid that he will turn into his father or Harry.” Sherlock began. Greg put his beer down on the table. “But I don’t think he’ll hurt himself.”  
“Why not?” Molly asked.  
“He’s stronger than anyone that I know.” Sherlock stated. It was a statement of fact and no one disagreed with him. Molly got up and looked at her watch. She made her excuses and went on her way. Greg helped Mrs. Hudson straighten up and they walked down the stairs together. Sherlock hadn’t moved from the window. His mind was turning over the new information that John had reminded him of.   
Sherlock took out his phone and texted Mycroft.  
“John’s mother’s accident. What are the similarities to Mary’s death? –SH”  
“Quite a few.- MH” came the reply a few moments later.  
“Reminder? – SH”  
“Possibility. Something to hurt John?- MH”  
“Or to wound him for future use.- SH”  
“True.-MH” Their conversation fell flat after that. Sherlock pocketed his phone. He took a bottle of water up out of the fridge and mounted the stairs towards John’s room. He reached the top landing and knocked softly on the door. He pushed open the door to find John laying on the bed and looking out of his window. Sherlock out the bottle on the night table and stood in the doorway.  
“It wasn’t until I was thinking about what my parents would have thought about being grandparents that I remembered that event that lead up to her death.” John stated after a few minutes.  
Sherlock stood and said nothing. John’s posture changed subtly, but Sherlock saw it. “I recognized the man with the driver in the photograph.” John said. Sherlock’s gaze was ripped from the pattern in the wooden floor to John’s face. John had turned to face him.  
“You know who he is?” Sherlock asked.  
“Yes and no. I have seen him around the neighborhood of both the flat and the surgery. But I thought at first it was coincidence. But I’m beginning to think that Mary knew him. I saw them talking one day in the market by the flat while shopping. Their voices were low and she looked like she was upset. But she brushed it off as if he had merely asked her about produce and insulted her. She told me not to worry.” John sighed heavily and sat down on the edge of the bed. Sherlock twisted his hands around each other behind his back. He was watching John make the connections he had made just moments before.  
“Did you believe her?” Sherlock asked. John shook his head.  
“I knew my wife. She wouldn’t have acted…. Well, off, if that was all it was. But I trusted her. I figured she knew what she was doing.”  
“And….” Sherlock was gently leading him where he needed to go.  
“Sherlock, stop it.”  
“What?” Sherlock looked shocked.  
“I know that you think no one can think at the same break neck speed you tend towards. And no one can see the obscure things you do. But once I began thinking about my mother, I had the whole thing in my head. He was someone from her past. He was someone that had been looking for and found her. But he was someone she had once trusted. In some fashion. And there was more to the interaction. Mary was killed wasn’t she Sherlock? Someone killed my wife and daughter.”  
Sherlock was silent for a moment. John looked over at him and Sherlock slumped on the bed.  
“I believe so.” He told John finally, opting for honesty.  
“And the man in the holding cell?”  
“An innocent pawn. But as he was drunk, he will be prosecuted.”  
“I figured.” John knit his brow. “We need to figure this out. We need to investigate. We need to see why this man killed my wife.”  
“Are you sure John?”  
“Take my case.” It was a simple request and a plea.  
“I will have to see if my partner is available.” Sherlock stated and John chuckled. John got up and went to the wardrobe. He pulled out the soft pants and tee shirt he slept in.  
“I am taking a tablet. I am sleeping. I need it. Then, tomorrow we will begin. So I suggest you sleep now too. Because when I begin this, there will be no resting until it is done.” Sherlock nodded and left John to sleep.  
Sherlock sat on the edge of his bed and stared at his phone. After sighing, he decided that it was better to prepare for the oncoming storm. He fired off the text message and set down his phone.  
“John made a connection between the man in the pub and Mary’s death. He wants vengeance. See what you can find out about him. Prepare for the oncoming storm of Watson. –SH.”  
Sherlock had finished in the bathroom when his phone sent an incoming message.  
“File will be completed by dawn. Will send it over as soon as finished. I will weather the storm with you.- MH”  
“Thank you.-SH” Sherlock turned his volume off and lay down on his bed. He turned off his head and fell into a deep sleep.  
Sherlock was not used to being asleep for as long as he had been that evening. John was munching on toast and tea when Sherlock stumbled into the kitchen. John handed him a cup of tea and never took his eyes off of the file he had in his hand. Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he sipped his tea and John smiled.  
“Mycroft.”  
“Anything useful?” John nodded. It was the John that Sherlock was used to. It was the John who sat across him morning after morning and discussed cases with. This John had a small sadness to his eyes, but it was his John again.  
“Yes. But I will let you look for yourself while I shower.” John said. He put the file down on the table and looked at Sherlock. He began to open his mouth to say something but shook his head and went on his way. Sherlock noticed for the first time in his now clearer eyes, that there were two files. He pushed aside the top one that contained information on the man in the pub. He gingerly lifted the cover on the second and almost gasped. It’s was the file on Mary.  
Mycroft had taken a while, but his work was never short of complete. Sherlock had already read the case study of Mary or the woman they knew as Mary. Most likely it was all the information that was on the flash drive that John had burned. When John came back downstairs from dressing, Sherlock was dressed and sitting in his chair. The files were on the table next to him. John sat slowly in the chair across from him and noted that Sherlock was watching him with extreme curiosity.  
“You are not the only one that knows how to text Mycroft.” John stated.  
“And you read it?”  
“It’s not much different than what I thought it would contain. It was better with the dates and the places than my imagination, but very close.”  
“You deduced your wife?” Sherlock was impressed.  
“I was taught by the one and only consulting detective.” John smirked.  
“And ….” Sherlock found himself feeling like a therapist. John chuckled a bit, Sherlock was sitting on the edge of his seat. He needed to know how John was processing it.  
“I am still sad at her loss. And Jane’s. But in a way I feel less like loose ends. More complete. More like the windows are open and the sun is shining in. Brighter. And almost lighter.”  
Sherlock pondered this for a bit. “So, where do we go from here?”  
“We find out what the man in pub was after. We find out why my wife and child were killed and then we seek some form of justice.” John sat back in his chair and waited for Sherlock. Sherlock sat back himself and began to talk at a rapid pace. The game was on.


	7. The Boys are Back in Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John comes to a realization..... and they fall back into old patterns and habits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No.... I promise that we are getting to the relationship. It's Johnlock, I promise. But I also said slow..... Once it takes off.... my God does it ever.... But we are about to see a shift. Enjoy!

Chapter 7- The Boys Are Back in Town  
Sherlock began his usual monologue that went with each case. John was familiar with the details and how his mind worked. It was interesting to be in his position.  
“Oliver Standish, or at least that was the name of the man in the pub on his passport that allowed him entry to Great Britain three years ago, was a known by at least seven other names. Assuming the trail is correct, his given name was Avi Beckman. Thirty seven and an Israeli born Mossed agent. Left the service after being lost in the Eastern Block for about five years. He and his known associates covered the globe, trading arms, mercenaries for hire. But information and technology were more profitable. We can point him in the same areas as Mary’s movements on no less than five occasions before she became Mary Morstan. Possibly, she took something that he wanted or she had something he wanted. But she ran. He’s been looking and biding his time. They argued in the market. He followed her on the street. He moved into your neighborhood. I would even go as far as venturing that he went to your flat when you were not home.”  
John sighed. He knew that on several occasions both he and Mary felt as if there was something off about the flat when they got home. Things were not quite the same. And to find out that his wife might have hid something from this man, and she died for it, it must have had some value.  
“I think our first line of attack is to find him and ask him what it is that he is looking for.” Sherlock continued.  
“No.” John said. Sherlock stopped dead in his thoughts and stared open mouthed at John. John had a fleeting smile at shocking Sherlock, but he continued. “No, first we trash my flat. There has to be something there. A clue or an item itself.”  
“That’s like looking for a needle in a hay stack.” Sherlock whined.  
“Not really. See it this way. I am moving back here. My things can be packed quickly. Taken out of the flat. No one will be the wiser. They would think simply that I was moving. Her things we can take our time with. We can linger over them. It won’t appear usual. It would seem as if I was grieving, which I am. But we can set a trap and bring him to us. Element of surprise.”  
Sherlock leaned forward in his chair towards John. The small doctor had surprised him. It was a flawless and brilliant plan.  
“And we could even recruit our friends into helping without knowing it.” John finished. Sherlock stood up and walked over to John. John had a look of triumph on his face.   
“That is bloody brilliant.” Sherlock stated. John looked confused.  
“And….”  
“And nothing. It’s flawless, really. Couldn’t have done a better job myself.”  
“And….” John stared at Sherlock with such a fierce gaze and Sherlock felt the burn of John’s sky blue eyes on his skin. It wasn’t the same feeling as when Mycroft did it or when the public did. This did something different to Sherlock. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he almost liked it.   
Sherlock turned. He could still feel John’s eyes on him. He wanted to feel this all the time. This intense gaze. He shook his head. They were still grieving for Mary and Jane. And they needed to resolve the mystery of their death. Sherlock walked to the window.  
“You seem so detached suddenly.” Sherlock stated. He tried to make it sound more like an observation than a concern.   
“Compartmentalizing.” John stated. “Easier to focus.” Sherlock nodded, but there was something different than that. It was in John’s posture. His ramrod straight military habits. His shell that he hid behind when he wanted the world to see his strength and bravery and not his tender and quiet side. Sherlock noticed the change had been in place from the time the previous evening when John first put the pieces of the puzzle that he had together and saw the connection.   
“Are you sure?” Sherlock showed a rare emotional moment to John and John came to the window near Sherlock.  
“Yes.” He sighed. They stared out the window at the world that was still passing by in all it’s ignorance and bliss. John envied that for a brief moment.  
“Something has shifted in you.” Sherlock said quietly.  
“Yes.”  
“And….”  
“I am attempting to deal with it.”  
“If you…. Do you…”  
“If I want to speak about it, I will.” John’s voice was harsh and quick. Sherlock flinched internally. John softened for a moment. “I’m sorry. Thank you Sherlock. I will keep that in mind, but right now, I want to get started.” John took out his phone and began to text their friends.  
The promise of pizza and beer was all it took for Greg, Molly and Mike Stamford to agree to help cart John’s life across London and back to 221B Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson seemed to relish the idea of having John’s welfare to look after and the normalcy it brought to Sherlock’s. John and Sherlock went the flat first and began to sort things into piles. Things of John’s to pack, things of John’s and Mary’s that needed closer inspection but were not priority and things of Mary’s. Things that needed a closer eye.  
John was carrying the last box of things to his room at Baker Street when Greg stopped Sherlock on the landing. Sherlock was carrying the pizza and Greg had the beer. Molly had gotten called into work and Mike was chatting with John upstairs.  
“Something’s different.” Greg observed. Sherlock sighed.  
“Scotland Yard’s finest. Just seeing that now are we?” Sherlock jabbed at him.  
“No. I saw it right off you git. I wanted to speak to you alone. Molly was concerned too.”  
“Military training kicked in. He’s compartmentalizing. Being practical. Stoic even.”  
“There’s something you aren’t telling me.” Sherlock narrowed his gaze on the greying detective and Greg backed off.  
“There is always something I’m not telling you.” Sherlock dumped the pizza on the table and stomped off to his bedroom. His phone had been buzzing in his pocket for several minutes. He closed the door and whipped it out.  
“All camera’s in place.- MH”  
“ Feed live. –MH”  
“Pizza? – MH”  
“Stream live video to your phone and Dr. Watson’s. –MH”  
Sherlock pulled up the live stream feed of video cameras from John and Mary’s flat. They wanted to watch if Oliver Standish went to the flat to look for something before John began getting rid of Mary’s things. They would have a better idea of what he was looking for then. Sherlock sent off a text to John.  
“Mycroft’s minions are finished. You should be able to see the flat on your phone. – SH”  
“And Baker Street?- JW”  
“Also included. Text alerts will fire off if the threshold is crossed.- SH”  
“Good. Now come here and bore Mike and Greg. Or throw a fit. I want to talk and they need to go.- JW”  
“Dr Watson are you requesting to be alone with me?- SH.”  
John laughed at his phone and Greg and Mike looked at him.  
“What’s so funny?” Greg asked. He was getting suspicious that maybe John had something to hide.  
“Sherlock. He’s in his room and is texting me instead of being out here. He’s being a right git” John raised his voice to allow Sherlock to hear “and won’t come out. He’s pulling a sulk.” Greg shrugged and Mike continued to eat his slice.  
“They won’t leave.- SH”  
“Nope. Done texting now. Get out here and eat something.- JW”  
“No. Thinking.- SH” John put his phone down and sighed. He picked up a slice and chewed it thoughtfully. Mike was talking to Greg about football and John stared into the middle space in front of him. He was wondering what and where Mary could have hidden something. And he was considering how much he wanted to be alone with Sherlock in the flat. Just the two of them. He shook himself out of the disturbing thought that he preferred the company of the sociopath and smiled at himself. He had found himself strange friends.  
Mike and Greg left an hour later with many thanks from John and promises to go for a pint at the pub in the near future. Greg put his hand on John’s arm after Mike had gone out the door and down the stairs.  
“If you need anything, mate. Call me. And if you need me to take Sherlock off your hands…”  
“You’ll find a reason to arrest him.” John finished with a laugh. “Really, Greg, I’m fine. I’m sad, I’m tired. I need a shower and some sleep.”  
“You seem to be dealing with this better than yesterday.”  
“In some ways, yes. I have something to focus on for the moment. Reestablishing myself here. And with Sherlock to look after…” john shot a look at his bedroom door. “Maybe this is what I need. Someone to watch over  
“And we all know he needs a babysitter.” John felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. “I’m just worried.”  
“Let’s just say that I have had too much experience at grief and I’m getting better at it.” John stated. Greg nodded and went down the stairs. Once his car pulled away from the curb, Sherlock came out of his room, straight to the now cold pizza and sat down with a thump on the stool and attacked a slice with mushrooms.  
“Never thought I would see the day that Sherlock Holmes would eat cold pizza.” John said as he leaned against the door to the kitchen. Sherlock responded by taking a rather large bite and smiling. John shook his head and sat down across from Sherlock.  
“When I was…. In New York, I became fond of pizza. There is nothing like New York pizza. But I do admit two things to you tonight. When I was a junkie, I would pick up dealers in pizza parlors. So I would get a slice to seem like I fit in a bit. There is a certain…. Shall we call it nostalgia with eating pizza for me. It takes me back to the feelings I had just before I would have sex and get high.” John looked at Sherlock as he took another bite of the pizza.   
“And the second revelation?” John asked as Sherlock started on his second piece.  
“You are worrying me.”  
“Me? Why? You just admitted several things in a very short amount of time. You were in New York. You like pizza. You have had sex, never saw that one coming and that almost get high just off of a slice of pizza.”  
“Yes. I did.”  
“And you are worried about me?” Sherlock swallowed and put down the cold greasy slice of pizza in front of him. He looked John level in the eyes.  
“John I know compartmentalizing. I do it all the time. But this thing you are doing is not it. It’s like there is a switch that you turned off and stopped grieving for Mary. Not Jane, but Mary. I see the shift in your eyes at the mention of each of their names. This stoic, heroic, brave John that is before me is the same John I saw when we were chasing Moriarty. This is not the John that I saw three days ago. “Was it the file? Was it something there that turned you?” John shifted his gaze down towards the table and he took in a deep breath. Sherlock noticed that even at this moment John seemed lighter.  
“Full disclosure?”  
“Please.” Sherlock rarely used it with John. For Sherlock his fondness with John, he always meant please, but it was subtext. It was what John needed to hear to continue his confession.  
John picked up his beer and took a long pull of the bottle. Sherlock scrutinized each movement. John looked Sherlock dead on again.  
“You can never repeat this. So help me, if I ever find out you breathed a word I will… I will…. Ask Mycroft to move in here for a week.” Sherlock blanched at the idea and knew that John was serious.  
“I swear.” John seemed satisfied. He finished his beer and opened a second. He was buzzing a bit and Sherlock envied his buoyancy. His high that Sherlock would not chase.  
“When I realized the night of the funeral the connection between Standish and my wife, the way my brother died and my mother’s resulting suicide, and the similarity to Mary and Jane’s death, I saw it all spelt out for me. My life if they had lived. The woman who I still love. The lies that I chose to ignore, always sitting just under the surface. The nagging feeling that any person could know more about her than me. And the fact that I felt trapped. No, not trapped….” John struggled for the right word. He waved it away.  
“I realized in that moment that there was more to this story. I knew that you knew the story of my brother and mother’s death. I had told you years ago. But I needed to remind you. I needed to tell you I knew more. But everyone was here. I wanted nothing more than to rage and rail at them until they left. I wanted to be just me and you again. And I knew that I should have felt sad. Felt sad that Mary was gone and Jane was gone. But do you know what I felt?”  
“No.” Sherlock answered.  
“Relief. Sweet relief. That everything we had, everything we were before you left, could be back. That we could be Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson again. Free, unencumbered. Responsible to only each other. No wife or child at home. No one to worry about. And I wanted it so badly. But then the guilt. Holy God, the guilt. I looked at Molly’s stunned face when I went upstairs and Greg’s concern. I felt so guilty. Like I was letting them down. That I wasn’t holding up to their level of grief that they thought I should be handling. But, God almighty Sherlock. I’m thrilled. How can I grieve for a wife and child that I do love, but I have come to realize I barely know? It’s just you and me again.”  
Sherlock let all his gaurds down and stared at John in shock. He scanned his face and his body for any hint of illness. He found none. He found the man standing before him to be a new Dr. John Hamish Watson. The man that he always knew was under the soldier he met the first time in Molly’s lab. The man that was beginning to emerge in their chase of Moriarty. The man that was pushed back down under the grief of Sherlock’s death and Mary’s love. The man that made a rare appearance on a current case. And Sherlock loved and awed the man before him. He showed all this to John on his face and John tilted his head and smiled. He toyed with the neck of the amber bottle in his fingers.  
“Are you still worried about me?” John asked. It was level and normal and the best John had sounded in days.  
“Not at all.” John smiled.   
“Good, now, I have boxes to unpack. Since you will have nothing but annoying things to say about where I put my belongings, why don’t you come and help.” Sherlock began to protest, but he stopped. He got up and followed John up the stairs.  
John plugged his phone into the speaker system in his room ,turned on the music app and Thin Lizzy poured out of the little speakers. “The boys are back in town.”  
“Sure feels that way.” John stated and started on the first box.


	8. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next steps.... waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is as far as I recall the last chapter before.... the feels.....  
> Remember I don't anything including the spiral that my life has come into discovering BBC these characters.....

Chapter 8- Waiting  
After several false alerts of Mrs. Hudson’s comings and goings and the neighbors at John’s flat knocking on his door to pay their respects and slipping cards and whatnot in the mail slot, there had not been a single movement of any interest. No one that looked anything like Standish for three days. John was content to sit and read, watch tellie or fall back into old habits. Sherlock did not like waiting. He was not good at sitting and being patient for information to come to him. John was making tea in the kitchen and Sherlock was pacing in the sitting room.  
“Maybe it’s time to back to the flat and begin to process it.” John suggested. Sherlock had suggested that John wait a full week after they had moved his stuff out.  
“Maybe he doesn’t see it as a threat yet. And there is a lot to sort out.” Sherlock flopped on the couch and nodded.  
“Maybe you are right.” He said. John stopped what he was doing and began to laugh.  
“Fuck. I guess I need to call Lestrade. I think you have been getting high again.”  
“Why would you say that? We haven’t been anywhere alone for days.” Sherlock thought John was serious.  
“No, you tosser. You said I was right.” It took Sherlock a moment to figure out what John was referencing and he began to laugh too.  
“I often think you are right.” Sherlock stated. John stared at him as he handed the taller man a cup of tea.  
“But you don’t say it.”  
“Why should I?”  
“Because, normal people like to hear it.” John sat in his chair. “Don’t tell me when I tell you how brilliant you are you don’t like it.”  
“But I am brilliant.”  
“That’s it. I’m never telling you again. Your ego is just too big.” John said with a chuckle. Sherlock looked at John as if he was genuinely hurt.  
“So, if you are done telling me how terrible I am, why don’t we get a move on and get to the flat.” John didn’t feel like stroking his ego and he wanted to get started on the search. He nodded his head and made a move to get his coat on. Sherlock placed his own over coat on and they headed out the door. John hailed a cab and the two men climbed into the back.  
“Sherlock, I’m sorry. I was kidding.” John finally said when the silence had gotten too much. They had been at the flat systematically taking apart the kitchen.  
“I do not have a big ego.”  
“Not in comparison to Mycroft.” John muttered under his breath. Sherlock smirked at that and John felt better.  
John was working through a kitchen drawer, taking it out and flipping it over to look behind it and under it. Sherlock was trying to search in the upper cabinet when a can of soup hit him on the head. John grabbed the can and Sherlock yelped in pain. John looked at him and sighed.  
“Sit down, let me see.” Sherlock sat down on the kitchen chair and John pawed through the springy black curls looking for blood or a point of impact. He saw nothing. But he did notice the way Sherlock’s hair felt like silk and sex all at once. He could feel the product in it to tame the wildness and smiled at Sherlock’s vanity. It wasn’t something he flaunted at other people, but it was there underneath every mark on his outward appearance.  
“Nothing.” John said. “You want ice?” Sherlock shook his head and John noticed the way the curls bounced. He rubbed his eyes and wondered if he was tired.  
“You look beat.” Sherlock stated. John shrugged. He opened his fridge to find that there was still some food. He thought he might as well cook it up since he wasn’t coming back and throwing it away was a waste.  
“Hungry?” that was the answer. Low blood sugar.  
“I could eat.” Sherlock answered.  
“I’ll just cook something. Seems a waste to let this food go to waste.” Sherlock nodded and looked at the door to Jane’s room. He had a nagging feeling that whatever he was looking for was there.  
John made a quick omelet with the eggs and vegetables that were left and washed up the dishes. Sherlock suggested putting the rest of the food in two bin bags. One that he would properly throw away and one that Sherlock would alert his homeless network of. Things they would eat and enjoy. It made John feel better that nothing would be wasted. And if the flat was being watched, he would appear as if he had started the slow process of removing Mary’s things. That might spark something in the man they were trying trap.  
John took the bags to the bins outside and Sherlock hailed a cab. They climbed in and headed for home. John watched London come into focus as Sherlock looked out his window. Each was deep in thought of their own and they rode in silence. “Thank you.” John said quietly.  
“For what?” Sherlock hadn’t turned his head.  
“For doing this with me. For not thinking I had completely gone off of my rocker. For being you.” Sherlock knitted his brow, but was still looking out the window.  
“Anything.” A simple word that John came to understand spoke volumes. John walked up the steps to the flat and decided a shower was in order. To move out the last bit of tension in his shoulders, especially his left and then onto bed. Sherlock hung up his coat and picked up his violin. He pulled at the strings and John stood under the stream of hot water, listening to him play. John felt a warm feeling in his belly and turned his face to the spray to figure out what it was. Contentment. That’s what he was feeling at that moment. Contentment in a life that he had stumbled into and maybe had always been stumbling towards. He turned off the water and climbed out of the shower. He noticed the music had stopped. He pulled on his warm robe and picked up his clothes to take them up to his room. He opened the door and Sherlock was standing right in front of him.  
“I’m going out.” Sherlock announced suddenly. But there was something behind his eyes. Something John had never seen before. John nodded and padded up to his room. Sherlock pulled on the great carpet of an overcoat and John heard the door shut behind him at the bottom of the stairs. John shook his head and finished getting ready to go to bed.  
John and Sherlock stayed in the flat for two more days without any notice. Maybe the bags of food were not the best ruse. Sherlock was getting dangerously board and John admitted he was starting to go stir crazy himself. He ran through the blog’s posts and looked in the email for a small case. Something to distract them. But there was nothing that he could find that would be alluring enough for Sherlock. John stood up and grabbed his keys. He should go to the market. They were low on food and if he didn’t go, Sherlock would waste away to nothing or whine before he went to the market. So, food shopping it was.  
“I’m going to the market. You want anything particular?”  
“No, whatever you get is fine.”  
“Okay than.” John pulled on his coat.  
“Please don’t get into a fight with the chip and pin machine.” Sherlock jabbed as John opened the door. John fought the urge to stick his tongue out at Sherlock and walked out of the flat.  
John hadn’t been gone ten minutes when Sherlock’s phone sent a text alert. He reached for it on the table blindly and was finally pleased to see that their plan was working. They was a man who had picked the lock to John’s flat and was standing in the sitting room assessing the flat. Sherlock watched him as he looked around the flat, tracking his every move. John rushed in as Sherlock was pulling on his coat.  
“He’s there!” John exclaimed.  
“Yes, now if you are done stating the obvious….”  
“Cab’s waiting.” John said as they ran down the stairs. Sherlock watched the feed as they drove across town. He threw a few bills at the cabbie and he and John gathered themselves on the sidewalk.  
“I’ll go around back. You go in the front.” Sherlock instructed John. John nodded. They had gone over it in the cab. Surprise from two fronts. John waited a beat and started up the steps. And that is where the whole plan went a bit sideways.  
Mrs. Jabbits lived upstairs. A nice older woman with a daughter in university and a husband who went out one day for a pack of cigarettes. He still hadn’t come back after twenty years.  
“Oh, Dr. Watson, dear. I was so sorry to hear about Mary and the baby.” She said as she was coming down the stairs.  
“Yes, Thank you Mrs. Jabbits.”  
“It’s so sad. You know my sister Millie, she lost her husband’s nephew in a car accident. It was so tragic. Such a loss.”  
“Yes, you said that. I need to get…”  
“And you two newlyweds. Even more tragic.”  
“Yes, thank you… But I really need to get…” John heard a noise from inside the flat that sounded like either Standish or Sherlock breaking the low table in the sitting room. And he couldn’t get around Mrs. Jabbits and inside. She jumped at the noise.  
“What was that?” John was done with polite, pushed her out of the way and opened the door. Sherlock was sitting on Standish’s middle. Standish was out cold and Sherlock had a hand to his face where there was a large amount of blood.  
“What the bloody hell took you so long?” he snapped at John.  
“Neighbors.” John started to laugh at the absurdity of it and Sherlock joined in. John grabbed some duct tape and they tied Standish to a kitchen chair. John was bandaging Sherlock’s split eyebrow up when Standish came to. He began to thrash as he realized he was tied down.  
“Now, really. If you go breaking into people’s flats and get caught, you are bound to get tied up.” John tutted at him. Sherlock stifled a laugh and Standish began to spew out a long string of curses and threats.  
“I could call NSY. Be done with it all.” John stated. Standish fell quiet for a moment.  
“That wouldn’t be in your best interest.” He stated. His voice was accented and Sherlock heard the Israeli in him.  
“And would you care to explain further?” Sherlock asked. He was wiping the last of the blood off of his face. John stood back and wondered what Sherlock’s face would look like with this new scar. It might just add a bit of dashing to the handsome. John shook his head at the thoughts that were beginning to pull at the edges of his mind.  
“I’m not the one you need to be worried about.” Standish stated and spat on the floor. His mouth was bleeding and John wondered what Sherlock hit him with. Then he realized it was his head. That hard beautiful…. ‘stop it.’ John thought to himself. Something was wrong and at the next opportunity he was going to have a full medical work up.  
“Who is we should be scared of.”  
“The people that Lil….” Sherlock cut him off.  
“Mary. Her name was Mary.” John looked at Sherlock and saw not only a look of protection for John on his face, but hatred for the woman she was before Mary. John liked this look.  
“Okay, than, Mary stole the drive from. It was not a good move on her part.”  
“I haven’t been able to find anything.” John piped up. He needed to talk to this man.  
“Poor duped man.” Standish spit. “You really think you knew her? I knew her. I knew her in ways you can’t even….” Sherlock caught John as his fist came really near Standish’s already sore mouth. He was developing a bruise on his cheek and Sherlock’s eye was starting to swell. John grab ice from the freezer and thrust it at Sherlock. He put it on his eye and looked at Standish.  
“What happened with you and Mary in the past, both professional and private will stay there. Do not goad this man. For the next time Dr. Watson comes at you I will not stop him. Not please, dispense with the drama and tell me what you are looking for.”  
Standish eyed Sherlock with contempt and John stood with his arms across his chest. Standish sighed and nodded his head in some resignation. John saw Sherlock slyly pull his phone from his pocket and begin to text. John gave slight nod of approval.  
“She stole a jump drive. Gold in color. About the size of a battery. She took it from an arms dealer in Croatia about seven years ago. It was a list of what was thought to be rouge agents. MI-6, CIA, Interpol, Mossed. A little of everyone. But in reality it was a list of a complex world wide web of agents deep under cover. She took it to protect herself. She went dark. Took me two years to lay eyes on her. But by then she was with you. And your reputation Dr. Watson precedes you. I waited for signs of Sherlock Holmes. When I found out that you thought him dead, I approached her in market. Little did I know that it would be mere weeks before the famous detective came back to life. But killing her was not my work.”  
“But I saw photographs of you two in the pub prior to her…. Before the car hit her. With the driver.”  
“The driver…. Yeah…. Him. Just some chap I met and became friendly with. Someone to keep up appearances with. But that night, he was set up before his car even started. Someone had poisoned him. He hit her as he was flying. It was planned out until the end. No miscalculations.”  
“But who is the puppet master?” Sherlock asked.  
“I’m not positive. But I have my suspicions. I need to get the drive and get to my handler. They are worried enough and have been trying to pull me in for two weeks now.” John heard the noise at the door and Standish noticed the shift in John.  
“If they take me to jail, I will be dead before morning.” He said. He seemed resigned to his fate. John shook his head and came close to Standish.  
“Then you had better talk fast.” His hands were clenched in fists and he leaned in on Standish’s knees. The seated man flinched just slightly under the pressure.  
“The king. That’s what I am afraid of. I am going to die.” Sherlock pulled John back as Lestrade and Donovan came into the room.  
Sherlock and John finished at New Scotland Yard. Statements were tedious and it always amazed John how much paperwork there was over a simple break in. Even if he wasn’t the one doing it. They were driven home by Sally Donovan who offered. Sherlock scoffed and figured it was her way of showing John some compassion. Sherlock was snarky and rude from the back seat and Sally ignored him. They climbed the stairs to the flat. It was well after midnight. They were tired and more confused than before.  
“Now what?” john asked as he hung up his coat.  
“Now we wait.” Sherlock answered and he pick up his violin.


	9. Frank Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here begin the feels. Revelations and realizations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the recent state of things with my text. I've been having some computer issues and all my defaults seemed to have disappeared. I hope this is better. I am going to be slowing down my postings a bit. I have a lot more editing to do and I need to make sure what is coming up is right. I'm quite a bit into this story and it's been fun to write. A lot more to go and i'm not quite sure that journey will take me. I'm glad you are along for the ride.

Chapter 9- Frank Conversation  
John slept the night through after they returned from the break in, but he felt no better. He made himself tea and toast. Sherlock sulked at the table with some sort of experiment. He slept little and was back to square one. Standish was as good as his word. Nine hours after he had been processed, he was dead. Inmate stabbing. Now they had no further lead, no idea who the king was and where the flash drive could be.

John watched Sherlock over the top of his tea cup and wondered what it felt like to have those long slender hands work with such dexterity and intent but gentleness at the same time. He shook the thought out of his head and pulled out his phone. He sent off a rapid text and got a response quickly.

“Not feeling well. Would you run some test for me?- JW”

“Sure. I’m working. Come over.- MH”

“Ta. Be there soon.- JW”

“By yourself?-MH”

“Yes. I need a break.-JW”

“I’m going out for a while. I’ll text on my way home. I can pick up some take away for dinner.” John said into the kitchen. Sherlock barely acknowledged it. John shook his head and decided a day out was what he needed. This was going to be an all-day sulk.

John finished reading the concise reports Molly had printed for him. His blood sugar was good. His cholesterol near perfect. Blood counts on track. No infections. No vitamin deficiencies. No STI’s. No HIV. Nothing. There was nothing wrong with him. Other than a few scars, an old bullet wound in his shoulder and a prat for a flat mate, he was in the best physical health since he was discharged from the service.

“John, I think that you don’t feel well because you are still grieving.” Molly stated.

“I know. But I know what grieving feels like. This isn’t it.”

“That what do you think it is?” Molly asked. They were both medical doctors. John treated the living, Molly the dead.

“I don’t know. Maybe Sherlock has gotten bored with me in the flat and has taken to putting something in my tea.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. Sherlock’s face flashed in his mind. And he suddenly wanted nothing more than to be back at Baker Street.

“I can run the heavy metals panel and the toxicology screen again if you want.” Molly offered. John shook his head.

“I think I’m tired and you are right. Grieving.” Molly took his hand and he smiled at her. It made him feel somewhat better that there was nothing wrong. He took his leave and walked half way back to Baker Street before he gave up and hailed a cab.

Sherlock had shifted from the table to the sofa, but his mood had neither improved nor worsened. That was something at least. John pulled out the take away containers from the bag he was carrying and tucked into his box of noodles. He left the cold sesame noodles he knew Sherlock loved on the counter and sat down in his chair.

“How is Molly?” Sherlock asked, still staring at the ceiling.

“How did you… oh sod it. Never mind. She’s fine.”

“And you are too?”

“Yes. Nothing wrong with me.”

“I could have told you that.” Sherlock stated. “Did you get me the noddle that I like?”

“Of course.” John said. And he noticed that the tone and pitch to his voice was very close to being endearing. He took another mouthful of noodles before he spoke again. Sherlock got up and took his noodles with him back to the couch. John watched him devour the noodles without stop.

“You have the strangest eating habits.” He stated. Sherlock stopped with a mouthful of noodles that hung down into the box. Sherlock raised his eyes to John and knitted his brow. He chewed his mouthful and spoke.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

“Well, you were raised on good solid normal food. I’ve eaten at your mother’s. But there is this posh side too. French food. And fine wine. The whole upper crust thing. You eat about once a day on average. I never see you lose or gain weight. But at the same time, I have seen you eat things that no one else in their right mind would guess that you would eat. Cold pizza. Sesame noodles. Fish and Chips. An entire box of chocolate biscuits.”

“And you eat such normal things yourself? I have seen you eat your fair share of odd things.”

“Like what?” John challenged.

“That awful pink pastry that is hidden in the back of the cupboard. The one with all the frosting that you don’t think I know about.”

“The pop tarts?”

“Yes, that’s it. What the hell are they?” John laughed.

“Breakfast food that is aimed at children. How do you know that they are awful? I know that they are awful. But they remind me of being a child. Of the good times with Harry.”

“I needed something sweet one night. And they were there. Children eat them and like it?” Sherlock wrinkled his nose and John lost it then. He put the carton down on the table and laughed hard.

“What is so funny?” Sherlock asked indignant.

“You. I can’t imagine what it was like to be a child with you and Mycroft.”

“Mycroft was never a child. He was born old.” John laughed and Sherlock began to smile himself. He slurped up more noodles and settled into the sofa more relaxed.

“I can see that.” John said, tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

“Have I ever told you about the time, Mycroft brought home a girl?”

“Mycroft dated?” John looked shocked but his body was rocking with silent laughter. “You, I can see. I have. It’s not pretty but I know that you have at least had sex. You admitted that. But I can’t begin to see Mycroft….” John couldn’t finish the sentence.

“I was nine. Mycroft was sixteen and my mother was pushing him into trying to be a normal teenage boy. We were home from school on a holiday and Mother set him up with a neighbor’s daughter. She was fifteen and I was able to deduce she was not only the village champion of felatio, but she had a steady boyfriend with whom she was having regular sex. But her mother bribed her take Mycroft out with her one evening. Mycroft had read several books in the days before, trying to figure out how to date. But he choose poor books to use. Jane Austen and other romantic books my mother had around the house from her teen years.

“Mycroft went to the pub and they managed to serve him as he always looked so old. He was fairly drunk and they came back to the house. I hid behind the drapes to watch, to find out what was so special about dating and maybe to have something to hold over Mycroft’s head later on. The young lady decided that there was nothing going to stop her reputation as the village whore and began to work on … Well you get the idea.” Sherlock turned pink for a moment. John realized it was not from the words he knew he could say, but for the idea of watching his brother and the mental image of Mycroft in a compromising position.

“Mycroft finished his…. Well… for days afterwards, he was in lust. He rang her. Wrote her long love letters. He went overboard. Her rather large boyfriend caught Mycroft trying to sneak onto her farm and leave a note for her. Mycroft came home with a black eye and never dated again.”

“Wow.” John said. What he thought was going to be a funny tale, made him feel a little sorry for Mycroft. “Did you date in school?”

Sherlock pondered the question for a moment. “I tired. I was seen in the company of both girls from my year and a few boys. My mother realized that it was such a disaster with Mycroft that she wasn’t going to push me.”

“How old…never mind. Too personal.” John realized that he was fascinated with this look into the Holmes’ life.

“How old was I when I first had sex. Not to personal John. I was sixteen. It was the first time I got high. I was at school, bored with everything and I was offered my first hit. But the other student wanted something in return. Not money.”

“You fucked someone for drugs? Your first sexual experience?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I was fucked.”

“Oh.”

“John, I’m not classically what you would call a sexual being. I’ve never had sex for the utilitarian use of procreation and I have never had sex for recreational purposes. It was always a means to an ends. Usually for drugs or information.”

“Not what I expected.” John said. He twisted his mouth to the side. “But then again, knowing you, it sounds exactly like you.”

“Yes, I’m sure it does.” Sherlock almost sounded disappointed.

“Have you ever considered…. Have you ever tried…”

“What? Sex for pleasure?” John nodded. Sherlock pondered it for a moment. “I’ve never really thought about it. I guess it would be interesting to experiment…” John could see that he had lost him. Sherlock was setting up a great experiment in his head. John felt sorry for whatever poor sod got sucked into it. John let him mind wander to Sherlock in the pub trying to bring some person home to experiment on. Then his mind took a left turn and before he knew it, he was thinking about him coming home with Sherlock. What the experiment might look like and feel like. What kind of things Sherlock would do to him. John’s head snapped up and looked at Sherlock. Sherlock was gazing at him and his eyes grew wide as John focused his eyes on his.

John got up and made a hasty retreat to the kitchen. He stood with hands on either side of the sink. He was going to be sick. But instead of his food, laughter bubbled up from his stomach. He finally knew what was wrong with him. Sherlock seemed to either ignore it or something else as he lay down on the sofa looking up at the ceiling. John decided to go out for a walk. Cold air and being by himself. That’s what he needed.

John walked for what seemed like days. He returned home four hours later and found Sherlock asleep in his chair. He was curled up like a child. John walked near him and stared out the window. Absently he found his hand in Sherlock’s hair and was gently stroking the soft locks. Sherlock moaned low in his sleep and John stopped his hand. He just held it there and looked out into the middle.

John let go of Sherlock and Sherlock’s body seemed to stretch in search of John’s touch. John went his room, shut the door and lay on top of the bedding in the dark. Fully dressed and staring at the ceiling. His mind screamed from his epiphany. He was falling in love with Sherlock.


	10. Thank God for Small Favors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of the previous chapters. First physical touch.  
> Warning- mature language ahead....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this one took me a bit to edit. Sorry for the wait. Looking at next few chapters to edit..... Getting a bit graphic soon. Lets call a spade... coming soon.....

CHAPTER 10- Thank God for Small Favors.

John slept fitfully most of the night and finally settled into a resting sleep near dawn. His subconscious was trying to work out his recent revelation. He had never seen himself as gay. And was he gay just because the person he was falling in love with was male? Or was this left over resentment and homophobia that he had been exposed to in the service? Did it really matter?

Sherlock burst through John’s door an hour after he had fallen into a deep sleep. “John! John! Good you’re dressed. I got it. Our next lead” John was normally very good about waking and being prepared to run. Years of service and years of medical school had ingrained this into him. But this morning he wanted nothing more than to strangle Sherlock and go back to sleep.

“Did you sleep at all?” John yawned at Sherlock. He was full of nervous energy and wild eyed. Clear signs he hadn’t slept.

“Nope. I figured it out.”

“What?”

“The flash drive. It’s not at the flat.”

“I’m guessing that. So where the bloody hell is it?” Sherlock sat down on the edge of the bed and John woke up marginally more. He struggled with not moving closer to Sherlock to gain his warmth.

“In a box. A safety deposit box.”

“Where is the key?” Sherlock’s hand made a metallic ringing sound. John opened one eye. It was John’s keys. “Those are my keys.”

“Yes, John. Now move beyond the obvious.” John leaned up on his elbow and studied the keys. Baker Street. The flat. Harry’s. The surgery and oh. Wait. What was that little brass one. The one in the middle. He had never seen it before.

“That one.” He pointed. “So we found the key, but there must be millions of boxes in London.”

“Yes.”

“So, where is it?” Sherlock deflated a bit. He hoped that maybe John knew. Sherlock swayed a bit on the edge of the bed. “Lay down you daft bugger. I’m going back to sleep. You need to sleep too. Maybe it’ll come to me in a dream.”

Sherlock lay down and smiled. “That’s brilliant. You know and you are going to dream it into being.” He steepled his fingers under his chin. John rolled over, grunted at Sherlock. But as maddening as he could be, John was thrilled that he was in his bed. John fell back to sleep shortly with Sherlock’s warmth near him and Sherlock too fell asleep.  
When John awoke again it was early afternoon. Sherlock was curled onto his side, facing John like a flower looking for the sun. John’s hand twitched at his side to stroke his face. To feel what the soft pale skin felt like under his rougher hand. To touch the scar that sliced through his right eyebrow. To feel the slight stubble on his chin. 

“John.” Sherlock breathed. John’s eyes searched his face for any signs of alertness. But there were none there. He was still pulled down into the depth of sleep.  
John recognized his own fingers on Sherlock’s face before he sensed the feeling. Sherlock’s face turned into his light touch and John stopped his movement.

“There is no need to stop.” Sherlock said. John’s hand froze and Sherlock smiled at John.

“I…. Um….” John was a loss for words.

“I know.” Sherlock took in a deep breath and John’s hand reached up for the curls that touched the side of his face.

“How?” John whispered.

“I’ve suspected for a while. But I saw it pass over your face last night.” Sherlock stated. He slowly open his eyes and John became lost in the multi colors of the irises. Sherlock’s gaze held John’s for a few minutes and Sherlock reached up and covered John’s hand with his own.

“I’m waiting for you to say something rude. Or snarky. Or something.” John said. It was quiet Sherlock that bothered him the most.

“What shall I say?”

“I don’t know.” John breathed out. 

“Do you want to know when the realization happened for me?” Sherlock asked. He voice was low and almost a growl. John felt it tumble in his stomach.

“When it…. “

“When I was standing on the roof…. When I knew that I cared for you deeply. When I thought that you were my friend. But when you got out of the cab and I knew… I saw you and I knew… it was deeper.”

“How much deeper?”

“Deeper. It was thought of you safe and alive that kept me going for two years.”

“And…. There is always…. Wait.” John sat up. “The night Mary died. That’s what the and was wasn’t it.” Sherlock rolled onto his back and nodded weakly.

“I haven’t been able to put it into words exactly. And with each and every moment we are together since I jumped, it grows.”

“Explain…. Why now? How does it grow? I hope to hell that wasn’t a double entandra. And who else knows? Does any one else suspect?”

Sherlock took John’s hand in his and John flopped back on the bed. They lay on their backs, hand in hand, looking at the ceiling. Sherlock was quiet again.

“Talk.” John demanded in a whisper.

“I’m trying to figure out the proper order to all your damn questions.”

“Says the man that never stops with the answers.”

“John. Be fair. This is new for both of us.” John sagged a bit into the mattress at that.

“At my grave. I came to the realization it wasn’t just caring. It was love. I was falling in love with you. I haven’t said those words to anyone since I was a child. But I don’t want to use them until I am sure that I mean them. But every night while I was gone, before I slept, I would whisper them to the wind. I love you John. I hoped that they would reach you. And with each moment you and I are together, I see what an incredible man you are…. My love grows. And no. It was not meant that way. But maybe in time…” John could feel Sherlock’s face turn to a smile and John smirked.

“I don’t know think anyone else knows or suspects with the exception of Mycroft.”

“Fuck.” John growled low in the back of his throat and he felt the bed shift a little as Sherlock reacted to this word. John was beginning to like having this power over Sherlock. Making him react with touch and words.

John was never one to shy away from confrontation, but he was sure that he needed to recollect his thoughts. He ran his thumb over Sherlock’s. He got up from the bed. Sherlock turned his head. His eyes full of fear and questions.

“Loo.” John said and Sherlock relaxed. “But, to be honest, I can’t continue this conversation here. I’m afraid if we stay in my bed, we won’t talk much more.” 

“Is that a bad thing?” Sherlock asked. John took two steps from the doorway and reached Sherlock. He put his hands on either side of his head. He bent down and kissed him. John’s mouth, practiced from years of kissing, kissed Sherlock’s full lips. Moist, hot and sexy as hell. John felt the pull in his groin and Sherlock’s soft moan caused him to go to his knees. John opened his lips and Sherlock’s hot tongue passed his lips. Its slick and moistness tasted of cigarettes, tea and Sherlock. Spice and heat. John’s hands went for his hair as he pulled that precious mouth closer. Sherlock’s hand went around John and half drug him back to the bed. John broke away first, panting from the snog.

“That should answer your question. But loo. Then tea. I need a moment. Then we talk some more.” He walked out the door, his pants tight and his head swimming with the taste and feel of Sherlock.

Sherlock rolled onto John’s pillow. He breathed in his scent, committed it to memory and went down stairs to start the kettle. John was right. There was time for this. But John needed to talk things out. And this needed to be talked out.

John stood looking into the mirror. He was a bit more comfortable being away from Sherlock and his erection was softening. He heard noise in the kitchen and recognized that Sherlock was making tea.

“Fuck the tea. I need something stronger.” John yelled from the bathroom. Sherlock laughed.

“Okay.” John heard the glass of the tumblers knocking together as Sherlock carried them. He heard them set down in the sitting room. John left the bathroom, went into the sitting room. Sherlock was sitting in his chair. Tee shirt, Sleep pants. That damn blue robe that was so sexy. Bare feet. Such long elegant feet. John shook his head and reached for the glass of dark amber liquid Sherlock had poured for him. John swallowed it one go. Twelve year old scotch. John poured another and poured it down his throat. Then he poured a third and sat down in his chair. Sherlock stretched out and put his feet on John’s chair.

“You okay?” Sherlock asked.

“Yeah. Fine.”

“You sure?”

Sherlock sipped his scotch. John lifted his glass and looked at Sherlock. He took a sip. He felt the fire from the two shots he had done sitting in his belly and Sherlock was looking at him with the gaze of a mad man.

“Why wouldn’t I be fine? I realized that last night I was in love with my flat mate. And this afternoon I woke up with him in my bed and then I snogged him within an inch of his life. If I hadn’t stopped when I did, I would have nearly killed him with my mouth and hands and fucking him. I’m slightly drunk and I think that unless something happens, I might just take him right here on the floor.” Sherlock smiled. It reached his eyes and he laughed. “Don’t laugh Sherlock.”

“Why not?”

“Because. I’m dealing with it all in my way.”

“And this is one of a million reasons I love you.” Sherlock stated.

“Love.” John turned the word over in his mouth. “You love me.”

“I do.”

“Careful. Those words and love in the same sentence….” Sherlock chuckled at John’s joke.

“What do you need, John?” John closed his eyes. Sherlock waited patiently.

“I need space. Just a bit. I need a little time. You had two years to deal with this. I’ve had less than twenty four hours. I’m a bit behind you. And I need you to drag me to bed, let me run my hands all over you and for you to fuck me.” Sherlock was shocked by the last statement. He tilted his head to the side and John nodded.

“I will John. Do not tempt me. I will drag you to bed and not let you go for days, until I am done. I will fuck you.” Sherlock ripped out with a growl. “Then you will fuck me. I will watch your face as I break you down and build you back up. And I will break under one touch from you. But if you want to hold back a bit, we can.”

“Sherlock…” it was a plea. Sherlock dropped to his knees in front of John and pulled him into his lap on the floor. John found his arms around Sherlock as Sherlock kissed his with his whole being.

“Thank god your bedroom is on this floor. I don’t think I could climb the stairs if I wanted to.” John said. Sherlock laughed into his neck.

“Thank God for small favors.”


	11. Salvador Dali

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The relationship take a twist.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings here. This next chapter is mature. And slightly graphic. And well.... what it is. For the most part, if you are not interested in reading it you can skip this one. There are no real plot points here. Just smut.

CHAPTER 11- Salvador Dali

John gripped Sherlock as they rose up to their feet. Sherlock pulled John to his bedroom, shut the door with his foot and threw John on the bed. He drop his dressing gown on the floor and climbed up next to John. Suddenly John felt like a virgin on his wedding night. Sherlock’s intense gaze had John feeling slightly nervous and excited all at once.

“John…. Have you?” Sherlock asked. He knew that John was not a virgin. He was a father technically. But he was unsure of his experience with men. And he was so adamant when he stated he wasn’t gay.

“What, you think posh boy’s schools and prison are the only places that men have sex with each other. It’s been a while, but I’m not a novice.” Sherlock looked at him and tilted his head to the side as if to see him differently.

“John….” Sherlock laughed.

“Not what I want to hear in bed with a lover. Not fucking shut it, kiss me and take off your clothes. There are too many here.” Sherlock pulled off his tee shirt and John mirrored the image. With only their pants on, the came together in the center of the bed, their hands exploring their backs, chests, arms shoulders. Sherlock began to kiss down John’s left cheek to his ear. He bit the ear with his teeth and John had forgotten what a wonderful erogenous zone it was for him. Sherlock traced kisses down his neck and into the hollow between his clavicle and shoulder. He murmured into John’s skin.

“What? John asked.

“I love you.”

“I love you.” John said slowly. He pulled out each sound as he tried them out for the first time. “God damn it, I love you Sherlock Holmes.” It was stronger. Sherlock bit John and pulled him tighter against him. 

John pulled Sherlock’s head back and he reached down to place another kiss on his lips. A kiss of love that after John slipped his tongue out to trace the cupid’s bow and took a nibble on Sherlock’s bottom lip, turned into a snog where Sherlock moaned into John’s mouth. That was all John needed. He reached his left hand down and found Sherlock’s hard cock. He rubbed it with the tips of his fingers and the heel of his hand through the soft flannel of his pants. Sherlock moaned again and John walked his fingers up to the waist band and reached his hand in side. 

John’s mouth never left Sherlock’s, kissing him with such force they would be bruised before long. “John” Sherlock moaned as John’s strong hand found his cock and touched him for the first time, skin to skin.

“You are so beautiful.” John said. Sherlock moaned and John stroked his hard member with an expert touch. Long and fluid. John could feel the tip leaking pre cum and used it to help glide his hand back down. Sherlock buried his face in John’s neck. 

“I want to see your face.” John scolded. “I want to see all of you.” John took his hand and reached to pull Sherlock’s chin up. He noticed that he was crying. John stopped stroking Sherlock’s cock.

“Love, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” John’s voice was full of concern.

“No. You didn’t. I… it…. It’s amazing. You are amazing. I don’t think I’ll last too long.” Sherlock stated. John rolled on his side, pulled down his pants and kicked them somewhere. He grabbed Sherlock’s waist band and pulled. Sherlock lifted his hips up and helped John. Sherlock was laying on his back, fully bared to John.

“You are fucking gorgeous.” John growled. He kissed down his chest, licked his nipple a bit, Sherlock moaned. “Close your eyes. Just feel me on you.” John instructed. Sherlock’s eyes slipped closed.

“I always imagine you on me.” John reached up and put his fingers over Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock licked them with the tip of his tongue and drew them into his mouth with a bit of suction. John moaned and moved down to Sherlock’s stomach. His other hand sought out his cock and began to gently pull on it again. 

“John…” it was a moan. Guttural and John thought he might be close. He moved further down, his lips tracing the path to his left hand. At first he took his time, gently, almost teasingly running the length of the shaft with the tip of his tongue. Sherlock moaned beneath him. His head went back, his back arched and his hips came up to John’s mouth.

“Please…” John smiled and drew all of Sherlock in his mouth. He swirled his tongue around it’s width as he drew it out. He stopped just before the sensitive head was released. He teased his tongue along the ridge and Sherlock nearly screamed in pleasure. John smiled.

“So close….” John shifted his position some so he could see Sherlock’s face and began to move his mouth up and down his shaft. Sherlock found John’s hard cock and began to stroke it. John moaned into his cock and he knew he was done for. Sherlock’s other hand found his hair and he grabbed it as he pumped his cock into John’s mouth. John swallowed it down and looked at Sherlock. He was shattered, shaking and his eyes were wet. John forgot his own pleasure for a moment and came up to level with Sherlock.

“What, love… what?” he asked as he pulled Sherlock close to him. Sherlock turned into John and put his hand over John’s heart.  
“My John. That…. I’ve never… Oh, John… “

“Have I just rendered the incredible Sherlock Holmes speechless?” Sherlock gave in a shy smiled and nodded. John smiled and held Sherlock to him. He stroked his hair and kissed his head. He knew that he had shattered and totally exposed this man in his arms. For the first time ever. And John had been the one to do that to him. John’s heart beamed, at that moment, John’s ego swelled.

After a few minutes, Sherlock seemed to have regain use of his brain. “Oh, John. I have never experienced something like that before.”

“That was sex with love.”

“Sex for pleasure?”

“What other kind is there?” He kissed Sherlock’s forehead and Sherlock settled back into John’s loving arms. A few more minutes went by. Sherlock’s brain was working at full speed and he ripped his head up.

“But John… you didn’t…..” John quieted him with a kiss.

“I was waiting for round two.” Sherlock smiled.

“Challenge accepted.” He reached John’s face and kissed him deeply. John’s cock hadn’t soften much and Sherlock pushed John on his back. He began to study and catalog John with his hands, mouth and eyes. He circled the small round hole on his shoulder with his fingers, John shivering at both the light touch and the memories that came with it. Sherlock’s hands continued to roam down John’s body until he found John’s hard cock. He took it in his slender fingers and began to pull his hand down its length. John moaned a bit and Sherlock felt the vibration of the sound in his cheek that was resting on John’s belly.

“Sherlock…” Sherlock came undone at the sound of his name and reached back up to John’s face. He kissed him with passion, want and need. John’s mouth was open a bear for him and their tongues met battling each other for all they could consume.

“Sherlock…. Please for the love that is all that is holy, fuck me. I want you inside of me. I want to feel you inside of me. I want you to….” Sherlock pulled his head back from John’s searching his eyes. He wanted to make sure this was something John wanted.

“Are… you…” Sherlock was unable to finish the thought as John pulled his face towards him and kissed his ability to talk away. Sherlock was positive that this was consent. He reached his hand towards the bedside table and pulled out a small bottle. With ease, he filled his hand with a bit of lube and reached down to stroke John’s hard cock with the now slick fingers. John moaned low and his head fell back onto the pillows. Soft pillows that smelled of Sherlock and John turned his head to take in the scent. Sherlock’s expert fingers ran down John’s balls and found the sensitive space between them and his rear. John ripped out one word. “Fuck…” Sherlock buried his face in John’s neck and tasted him. He measured his pulse with his tongue and John’s hands became buried in the duvet cover, clinging on for dear life.

Sherlock began to work the lube into John’s hole, opening him up. One finger at a time, each time John gasping a bit at the change in pressure but not in pain. Sherlock knew that John was more experienced at this than he let on and found his mouth on John’s nipple. He shifted his body so that he was laying between John’s legs. His hand working John’s rectum and John felt Sherlock’s newly hardened cock against his. John poured a bit of lube in his hand and took both their cocks in his. He stroked them at the same time, gentle long strokes that took Sherlock’s breath away.

“Sherlock….please…. now…. Not long….” John mumbled out in small staccato bursts. Sherlock pulled himself up to John’s mouth and kissed him hard. John released his grip and Sherlock positioned himself and slowly entered John. John’s mouth formed a little o and Sherlock stopped.

“No, it’s fantastic.” John said. Sherlock pushed in gently moaning in the pleasure it gave him to be inside John like this.

“I have dreamed of this, but it’s so much better than a dream.” Sherlock spoke into John’s ear. John grabbed his ear with his teeth and nibble. Sherlock pulled out a bit and slammed back into John, hitting his prostate in the process. John moaned and wrapped his legs around Sherlock’s slender waist.

“I’m not a china doll. Fuck me.” John demanded and Sherlock began to push and pull in and out of John, going as deep as he could each time. John was eager for him and he could feel Sherlock’s flat stomach over his own hard cock. The friction was maddening and John knew it wasn’t going to be long until his release. He looked up to see that Sherlock was watching him, his bottom lip between his teeth. John pulled his head down for a kiss and took over biting that lip. John could feel a change in the way Sherlock held his body and knew that he was close. John allowed himself to fall over the precipice and he came with a violent shutter and the sensation of Sherlock slamming his own seed in John’s prostate.

“Oh, god…” John said and Sherlock fell on top, their bodies shuttering and filled with each other. John found Sherlock’s mouth and devoured it again as Sherlock lay spent inside him. After a moment, Sherlock got up from the bed and walked into the bathroom. He returned with a flannel and gently clean off their stomachs. John felt cold from the absence of Sherlock’s heat and when he returned he grabbed for him and held him tight to his body. Sherlock pulled the duvet up over them and turned to be face to face with John.

“Well…” John started. Sherlock smiled and traced John’s hairline with his fingertips.

“Yes….” Sherlock said. “Was it too much?” He wanted to make sure that he hadn’t hurt John.

“Everything with you is too much and not enough.” John said. 

“Are you hurt?” Sherlock asked, watching John’s eyes for a lie.

“I’ll admit I’m going to be sore for a bit, but it was worth it.” John noted the color changes in the room and wondered what time it was. He wanted to spend all his time in bed with his lover. But he needed something to drink. It was if Sherlock had sucked all the moisture out of his body. “What time is it?”

“You expecting someone?” Sherlock asked as he looked for the clock on his bedside table. It had been knocked off at some point and Sherlock shrugged. He was comfortable in his afterglow and didn’t want to leave John’s embrace for a while.

“I feel like that painting… the one with the melting clocks… where time just slips away….” John said, mostly to himself.

“I would let time float away if it meant we could stay like this forever.” Sherlock stated. He nuzzled John’s neck with his face and John pulled him closer.

“Me too.” They held each other for a while, the room darkening around them. John felt decadent to have had sex in the middle of the afternoon.

“Salvador Dali.” Sherlock mumbled a bit later.

“What?”

“The painting. Salvador Dali. It’s called ‘The Persistence of Memory’. I saw a number of years back at the Tate.” John rolled over and allowed Sherlock to pull his back closer to his chest. They were spooning. 

“This is bizarre.” John said. Some where he noted a phone buzzing in a pocket. He was too sated to move, but he felt Sherlock get up and search through the pockets to locate both phones. Sherlock looked at it and put it on the table. 

“What is bizarre?” Sherlock asked as he stretched his long lean body. John rolled to appreciate the view. 

“Cuddling, with you…. In bed.”

“Isn’t that what most people do after sex?”

“Yes. But you and I aren’t most people.” Sherlock nodded and pulled on his sleep pants and robe. John cocked his head and looked at his lover. A word that he turned around and around in his head. It was a good way to describe it. Lovers. “Where are you going?”

“I’m hungry.” Sherlock stated. John smiled and got up from the bed. He was a little sore, but in a good way. He dressed again and found Sherlock in the kitchen pulling out the left over noodles from the night before. John grabbed a fork and pulled some out of the box that Sherlock was eating. Sherlock smiled and walked into the sitting room. He flopped on the sofa and turned on the tellie. John stood in between the two rooms, leaning against the dividers and watching Sherlock. Sherlock settled on a program from America were two men buy and sell found treasures. He ate more noodles and looked up at John.

“What?”

“Nothing.” John went and sat next to him on the sofa. Closer than he would have dared before. Sherlock tipped the noodles at John and he took another forkful.

“There was something….” Sherlock said. “You were looking at me.”

“No, I was watching. This is not you.” Sherlock smiled while he finished chewing.

“John, I assure you, I am still me. But you are such a fantastic shag that my brain is blessedly muted for a while. I’m not sure how long it will last. But if I had known…. I would have tried it years ago to be able shut down.”

“Umm…. Thanks?” John said and Sherlock laughed.

“Yes, love. It was a compliment.” He leaned into John and John leaned into him as they watched the tellie and ate cold noodles.


	12. Small Shifts in Perceptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens after... how John sees the world around him after his first night with Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mature thoughts and wording here. But it's really a cleanish chapter.  
> Thanks again for reading and I love comments!   
> Remember I kidnapped these characters and I only wish I had a place to keep them.... the the fines if I don't return them on time. I do, however own my mistakes.....

CHAPTER 12- Small Shifts in Perceptions

John and Sherlock had settled into doing nothing for the evening. They had put on a movie on the tellie, a bio pic that John was enjoying and Sherlock was blessedly not commentating. Sherlock had his head on John’s lap and John was absently twisting the curls between his fingers. They were enjoying being with each other, touching each other as they wanted and testing the boundaries of this new found freedom. Nothing holding either of them back. John heard a car door slam on the street and Sherlock stiffened a bit.

“Mycroft.” Sherlock spat. John nodded and Sherlock could hear his mind whirling next to him. “I think he’s the one person we don’t have to worry about being us in front of.” Sherlock’s tone was lazy and John shoved him up to a sitting position.

“I’m not ready to share this with anyone.” John said. Sherlock nodded and sat on the sofa. Close enough for John to still feel the heat that he craved, but not far enough away to feel as if he hadn’t lost him. Mycroft walked into the flat and took in the scene.

“Well, since you have been ignoring my texts and calls all afternoon, and from the state of you both, I see it was for something you both have been wanting for a while.” Mycroft stated. John looked between both brothers and Sherlock smiled.

“Like I was saying John, he knew already.”

“Of course. Just one look and you can see that you two have finally done the deed as it were.” John sighed with exasperation and got up from the sofa. Sherlock shifted from the loss of John and Mycroft took Sherlock’s chair.

“Tea?” John asked, desperate for something to do that didn’t involve the deductive gazes of the Holmes brothers.

“So what is so important you decided to come and pay us a visit and interrupt our night in?” Sherlock sneered at his brother. John shook his head and noted the laziness in Sherlock’s voice. Sex was defiantly a sedative to the younger man. John filed that away for future reference.

“I was trying to inform you that there has been some movement on the Standish front. We were able to trace his killer back to Russian Foreign Intelligence. They wanted to shut him up. Mossed is upset.”

“Understandably so.” Sherlock drawled. He curled his long legs up under himself and John had to stop what he was doing and repeat the muscles of the face in his head to keep from crossing the flat and dragging the man back to bed.

“Yes. Rather.” Mycroft stated.

“Anything on who this king is?” Sherlock asked. John came in with three cups of tea. Mycroft accepted his, took a sip and put it down on the table. Sherlock took his from John and John sat down next to Sherlock. Sherlock put his empty hand on John’s knee. John relaxed a bit at the touch, but was still a bit stiff in front of Mycroft.

“Nothing yet. We have been running the names and aliases of his know associates in hope that something would come up. But the covers are good. I am even having difficulty breaking through the MI-6 names. Very, very deep covers.”

“Well, thank you for stopping by and giving us an update. Please come back when you have some actual news.” Sherlock stated, clearly trying to dismiss his brother.  
“Yes, well….” Mycroft was uncomfortable, but John guessed it could be from the way Sherlock’s hand was beginning to climb up his thigh.

“I have plans this evening and so does Dr. Watson. I will see you again soon enough.” Mycroft stood and walked towards the door. He stopped and observed the couple.  
“Please do be careful. If you are not ready to share this…. Relationship shift …. With the world, you will need to watch how you interact around other.” Mycroft warned and walked out of the door. John visibly relaxed when he heard the car pull away.

“He knows.” John said.

“Of course.”

“Do you….. think….” Sherlock silenced him with a kiss. John felt the pull in his groin and his cock began to grow hard again.

“Mrs. Hudson might be the only other one at this time to suspect. But I would think that she’s not entirely sure as when we went into my bedroom she was out and only recently returned.”

“So, maybe….”

“What?” Sherlock was nuzzling John’s neck and his hand was roaming along John’s side. John chuckled and pulled back for a moment. Sherlock sought out John’s eyes for any message.

“What it is love?” he asked placing a hand on John’s face. John got up from the sofa and went to the window.

“I think Mycroft’s right.”

“Are you mad?”

“No. But I do none the less. We need to be careful.”

“Why? I love you. You love me…. So what?”

“Perceptions.”

“Who’s?”

“The worlds. Trust me Sherlock. I want to run to the roof tops and scream about my love for you. I want to tell everyone how much I want to fuck you every minute of the day and how much I want you inside me. But I don’t know that our friends are ready to hear it. I think that we need to worry about making sure you and I are completely comfortable with this first. That we have our issues settled. That will take some time.”

Sherlock sighed and turned away from John. “You know I don’t care about what people think of me.”

“I know that. But take a moment and put yourself in my shoes.” Sherlock considered this.

“What? A very recent widower and grieving father whose wife shot his best friend only months after he showed up from the dead?”

“Yeah, that about sums it up.” John gave him a little half smile and huffed. “I still need to look like the grieving husband here too. We are in the middle of a case.” That Sherlock understood.

“I see.” Sherlock sat in his chair and put out his long legs. He crossed them at the ankles and put his finger tips to his chin. John watched him from the corner of his eyes.

“I’m not saying that I don’t want to tell people. I do. I want to be that annoying couple that people see out. Holding hands and being together. But I also want to maintain what we’ve had for all these years.” 

“What is that?” Sherlock asked. He felt completely out of his depth.

“Friendship.” John came and sat down across from Sherlock. Sherlock moved his feet up onto John’s chair and John rubbed them absently. “We were mates before we were lovers and I don’t want to lose that.”

“Agreed.”

“Then I think we need to set a few ground rules. Rules will help us establish boundaries and keep us in check. I’ve had too many relationship where caution was throw to the wind and they crumbled too fast. We are used to living a certain lifestyle. And we are far from ordinary. So, we need to have this conversation.” Sherlock nodded. There was a certain logic to it. John cleared his throat and Sherlock smiled.

“Okay, so where do we begin?”

“Well, …. Um…..” John was at a loss. Sherlock smiled.

“I want us to sleep together.” John smirked.

“We have done that.” Sherlock shook his head. “And as I remember it was pretty bloody fantastic.”

“That it was, but that’s not what I am talking about. I want to see you the last thing before I close my eyes at night and the first thing when they open in the morning. I want to hold you and feel your warmth while I sleep.” John swallowed hard. 

“I see….” John pondered each thing that Sherlock had spoken about. “You have to compromise though.”

“Compromise?” Sherlock asked. John began to feel the smile come over his face. He finally thought he had the upper hand with Sherlock. Sherlock’s eyes suddenly had a trapped look.

“Yes. We can share a bed. But I think upstairs is better. Less eyes. For now at least. We keep your things in the bedroom down here. Keep up some pretense for a while. And you have to sleep. If you are coming with me to bed, then you have to sleep.”

“Upstairs.” Sherlock thought about it. Every night with the man he loved in his bed. “Fine.”

“And there is no using sex for favors. No sex when we are angry. No sex for personal gain.” Sherlock tilted his head. John crossed his arms and Sherlock knew that it was not a negotiation. 

“Fine.”

“We have our own separate spaces. We need to be able to retreat from each other. We work together. We live together and we are sleeping together. We need some time apart.”  
“That I can understand.” Sherlock had always hated too much of any one person, but he thought he could die without John there every moment.

“We will get cross with each other. That is normal. But don’t expect me to become some sort of house wife. I still have a life and friends. I expect things to carry on much the same.”  
“As do I.” Sherlock said. John’s hand found his foot again and Sherlock flexed into the absent patterns John was making on his sole.

“PDA.”

“What?”

“Public. Displays. Of. Affection.”

“What about them?”

“I’ve never been much for them. Not with anyone. That won’t change. Certain things stay here.”

“I’m not going to snog you in the middle of a case.” Sherlock scoffed.

“I’ve seen you on a case. If the energy becomes too much, you might just…”

“And what about our case?” Sherlock asked.

“For now, we need to go on as if nothing happened between us. I need to seem like I am still looking through my wife’s things.”

“We can go back tomorrow.” Sherlock offered. John shook his head.

“I can’t. I have to meet with Lestrade to see about the driver’s first day in court.”

“Playing the grieving husband?” Sherlock asked. John nodded. 

“We all have our roles to play.” He said. “And right now, I think that I have played the role of sane and sensible man enough for tonight. Let’s go upstairs. I want to shag you at least twice more before I fall asleep.” Sherlock’s mouth dropped into a little o and John smirked. He enjoyed having the upper hand and finding little ways to surprise Sherlock.

John noted that for all of Sherlock’s thinness, he was more like an oven. His body radiated heat much more than John was used to and he awoke sweating. They had shagged each other into the wee hours of the morning and John was tired. He knew that he would look strung out and fragile. It was perfect for his meeting with Lestrade. He was hoping the man who was more perceptive than Sherlock gave him credit for, would pass it off as grief. 

John rose from the bed and went to take a shower. When he emerged from the cool water ten minutes later, he felt better. His muscles were sore from being used in ways that he hadn’t in years. Sex with Mary was always gentle and soft. Slow and fulfilling. But sex with Sherlock could be slow and tender or hard and fast. Both were men of action and they struggled with the power they tried to propel over each other. John noticed a mug of tea sitting on the sink and it was still hot. Sherlock was up. John wrapped a towel around his waist and found his lover sitting in the kitchen drinking his own cup.

“I’m sorry if I woke you.” John said. He came around the table to plant a kiss on Sherlock’s cheek.

“You didn’t. It was the absence of you that did.” John smiled tenderly and put some toast on.

“We are going to have to talk about sleeping with the window open or something. You are hot.” John said as he made his breakfast before going upstairs to dress.

“So says the very sexy man wearing only a towel.” Sherlock attempted to grab John around the waist. John came to him and they kissed. John felt the all too familiar stirring in his groin. He moaned into Sherlock’s mouth.

“I’m going to be late and I just showered. As much as I would love to lounge around with the scent of you on me, I have things to do today.” Sherlock pouted and John laughed as he took his tea and toast upstairs to dress. 

Sherlock was lounging on the sofa when John came back down stairs. John was dressed in jeans and a jumper. Sherlock looked him up and down, like a man surveying his dinner.  
“Don’t you dare.” John said. Sherlock winked and smiled at him. “Did you just wink at me?” Sherlock started with a low chuckle and John smiled and shook his head.

“How long will you be gone?” he asked. John shrugged.

“I might get Greg to take me to the pub after. Continue with the pretense that I’m still upset.”

“You look like you haven’t slept.”

“I really didn’t. Someone kept me up all night.” John answered. He swooped in for a quick kiss and Sherlock grabbed him and pulled him down onto the sofa with him. They kissed for a while. Before John broke away breathless.

“I need to go.” John whispered. He didn’t move.

“Yes.” Sherlock held him tighter.

“I’m already late.”

“I know.” Neither of them moved.

“What will you do while I’m gone?” John asked.

“I have no idea. Work I think.” John groaned and got up. He kissed Sherlock one last time. “Don’t forget to look like you are missing them.” Sherlock coached.

“I will be missing someone.” He said and headed out the door.

John made sure to change his posture and bit the inside of his cheek from smiling as he strolled into New Scotland Yard. He passed Anderson in the hallway who made some fumbled attempt at expressing his condolences. John chuckled at himself as he thought of at least seven different responses Sherlock would have come up with. He felt the unusual emptiness from not having him at his side. John pulled out his phone and began texting him while we walked to Lestrade’s office.

“Missed a great opportunity to insult Anderson. – JW”

“There is always another. –SH”

“It’s almost like he sets himself up for you at times.-JW”

“Seems that way. How soon until you are done and home in my arms again?-SH”

“Getting a little possessive now, aren’t we?-JW” Lestrade motioned for John to come in and sit down. John put his phone in his pocket and tried to keep the smile off of his face.

“How are you John?” Lestrade asked from across the desk. John had to swallow back his initial gut response of “fantastic.”

“I’m… I’m…. “ John was trying to select the right adjective. “I’m me.”

“Okay.” Lestrade wasn’t sure what to think. So he began talking about the case.

“So, where do we stand?” John asked.

“Since this is the second arrest for the driver and considering there were two deaths, the court is suggesting that he goes to trial. They are suggesting murder.”

“Murder.”

“Yes.”

“Why not manslaughter?” John was concerned that once the case was finished the driver would be in jail for being a bullet in the gun. But his child was gone too. Mary’s choices were hers. But the baby. Jane. Lestrade watched all this pass over John’s face.

“If it’s too hard….”

“No. It’s… I’m…. I just didn’t think it would go that far.” John said. Lestrade nodded.

“I think Mycroft might have had a hand in the push for trial.” John nodded. He was sure of that himself. Go to trial. Keep up pretenses. John’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out absently and looked at the message from Sherlock.

“You are mine Dr. Watson. Mine and mine alone and when you do get home I will possess you in ways that you haven’t even thought of yet. Then, we will spend the day in bed together tomorrow where I can possess you over and over again.-SH” John’s face was blank and he rapidly fired off a text before putting his phone away.

“You have no idea how turned on I am right now. I want to run out of this office, fly home and fuck you. But pretenses…. When I do get home you had better be ready for me. And by the way I love you.-JW”

“Love you too. I’ll be ready.-SH” John snickered at his phone. Lestrade was still talking about procedure and John looked up at him. Lestrade stopped talking and looked at him. John felt as if he was school boy getting caught with his hands some where they didn’t need to be.

“Who was that?” Lestrade inquired even though he was sure of the answer.

“Oh. Just Sherlock. Wanting to know if I can pick up milk on the way home.” John shrugged and Lestrade looked at him with a gaze that reminded John that he never wanted to be on the receiving end of one of his inquisitions.

“Something is different.” He said. But then he dismissed it. John listened to Lestrade and signed off on the last of the paperwork that needed to be addressed. John stood and Lestrade grabbed his coat.

“Fancy a pint?” Greg asked. John chewed his lip. Pretense or sex. Greg or Sherlock. He looked at his watch.

“One.” Greg nodded and they walked to the local pub that most of the police force hung out at after hours. John and Greg were joined by Donovan and Anderson. John felt his phone in his pocket buzz and tried to ignore it. It went off three more times.

“Where are you?-SH”

“Did you stop for a pint?-SH”

“I want you here… now.-SH” But it was the last text that broke John’s resolve to maintain the pretense of a grieving man.

“Are you ashamed of us?-SH” John turned away from the rest of his party, trying to pull on a face of utter contempt to hide the sadness that was enveloping him. He typed quickly and put his phone back in his pocket.

“I will never be ashamed of us. I love you. You know that. But I am having a pint with Lestrade, Donovan and Anderson. Trying to play up the grief angle. To make everyone think things are the same as they were three days ago. You and I know both know that they are not. I will be home. Soon. I promise. And with that promise is this. I want you. I want to hold you and kiss you again. I feel like I left part of my heart with you. Just give me a bit and I’ll make it up to you.-JW”

“Sherlock?” Lestrade asked as John blew out a deep breath as he pocketed his phone.

“Yeah. Git wants to know why I am not home with the milk yet. I swear if he thinks I am going to do all the shopping again….” Donovan laughed and John felt relieved that he had maintained his pretense. He began to drink his pint in earnest and made himself look like he was getting sad again. He watched his friends lift their glasses and he noticed little things. The way Donovan and Anderson looked at each other when they thought no one else was looking. The way Lestrade watched John’s wedding ring and flicked his gaze between his own empty finger and John’s filled one. The way the young couple across the room seemed to be growing apart from each other with each passing minute. He shook his head and felt as if Sherlock had moved in. It was strange to see the change in his perceptions. And wondered what else could alter perceptions.  
John took his leave with pats on the backs and a small kiss on his cheek from Sally. He hailed and cab and promised the cabbie an extra twenty if he could him there in under fifteen minutes.


	13. Consent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continues of from previous chapter.....

CHAPTER 13- Consent

John nearly ran out of the cab when it arrived at 221B Baker Street. He needed to feel Sherlock. He needed to be near him. He stopped short at the front door. They were not alone. John turned to his right to see Mycroft emerge from the shadows.

“Might I have a word Dr. Watson?” Mycroft asked. John wasn’t sure that a reply was needed. He was positive that Sherlock was aware of everything that was happening out on the street even if he couldn’t hear the conversation. John shrugged figuring it was faster to get this confrontation over with than to drag it out.

“My brother….” Mycroft began. He stopped and cleared his throat. John smirked at the thought of Mycroft being emotional. “My brother is important to me. Do not be fooled by his blasé attitude towards me. We have the utmost respect for each other. However, I do believe that even in his weakest moments, you are good for him. He has been clean for some time now. If he said that his recent fall from grace was for a case than it most likely was. He is good for you too. You balance each other. But I will leave you with this. Be careful with him. Hurt him, and I will make sure that it is the last act of your life.”

“Did you just threaten me with the break his heart and I will kill you speech?” John asked. He couldn’t help but smile.

“As you put it…. Yes.”

“In so many words.” John breathed out. He nodded his understanding at the older Holmes brother and went into the house.

Sherlock was waiting on the landing for John and his face smiled when he saw him. John didn’t stop on his way up the stairs. He grabbed Sherlock around the wrist, dragging the taller man with him. He pulled open the bedroom door, threw him on the bed and almost leapt at him as he removed his jacket, jumper and tee shirt in one fell swoop. He kicked off his shoes and shucked his socks. Standing over Sherlock in just his jeans, Sherlock licked his lips with anticipation.

“Naked… Now.” John ordered. It was his captain voice. Sherlock smiled and complied readily. John pulled off his jeans and his pants. They were both naked and wanting. But John stood over Sherlock taking in the sight of him laying naked on his bed. He softened his demeanor some and bit his lower lip.

“You are so beautiful….” Sherlock felt the heat from his pink cheeks and reached out for John. John took his hand in his and allowed Sherlock to pull him onto the bed.

“I missed you.” Sherlock said. He put his face into John’s neck and breathed in the scent that was John. Aftershave, the pub, beer, sunshine and wind. The scent of John. He licked his neck at his pulse point and felt it jump as John shuddered under Sherlock’s touch.

“I couldn’t think of anything but you the whole time.” John muttered as he put his hands in Sherlock’s hair. He pulled him up for a kiss. It started off dry and plain, but after a moment, it became wet with their slick tongues tracing each other’s lips, gently nipping at each other. John felt Sherlock growing harder against his thigh and Sherlock reached down to take them both in his slender fingers.

“I want you…” Sherlock purred. John smiled and traced his fingertips down Sherlock’s side to meet his hand. “I want you inside me.” John stretched his free hand for the table top and found the lube. He poured some in his hand and shifting slightly, he reached around to Sherlock’s round ass. He slipped the first finger inside as he gently stroked him on the front. Sherlock gasped in surprise and kissed John with new fever. John met his kisses and slowly circled around to place a second finger inside. He spread Sherlock wide to make him ready for John. Sherlock slide his hand along John’s member, reaching for the lube himself. He covered John’s cock with the lube and when he felt ready, he turned John over on his back. 

Sherlock straddled John’s thighs with his own. He took John’s cock in his hand and reached up to kiss John. He settled back and guided John into his hole. John raised his hips to meet Sherlock’s ass and Sherlock threw his head back as John hit the bundle of nerves that was the prostate. John lowered his hips and thrust upwards and deep again.

“Yes, John. Yes.” Sherlock moaned as John repeated the action. John put his hands on Sherlock’s hips and guided him up and down. He felt Sherlock’s cock grow harder against his belly and the first traces of pre cum seep out of the tip. John release his grip on his right hip, realizing that there was going to be a bruise there later. He took Sherlock’s cock in his hand and began to stroke him in time with his thrusts. Sherlock leaned forward as John continued to slam into him and he found John’s mouth with his own.

“I love feeling you inside me.” Sherlock said into John’s neck. John responded with more thrusting and stroking. He knew Sherlock was close as was he.

“Come with me.” John said. Sherlock nodded and moved with John in a rhythmic dance. John felt the hot wet semen spill over his hand and onto his belly seconds before he lost his own. He held Sherlock tight to his chest as they both rode the wave of their orgasm.

Panting, they lay together, Sherlock on top of John. John kissed Sherlock and Sherlock moved off of John to get a towel to clean him up. Sherlock’s long legs were an advantage to climb the stairs to the bathroom quickly and he was back before John could regain a thought. John rolled to his side and motioned for Sherlock to join him in the bed. Sherlock lay down with his back against John’s chest. John fluffed a pillow under his head and pulled Sherlock into a tight embrace.

“Maybe you should go out more often.” Sherlock stated.

“Why?”

“Because. When you get home… we can have mind blowing sex.” John laughed and Sherlock felt it through his whole body.

“Maybe you should be insecure more. That’s what drove me home faster. I wanted to prove that everything I said was true.”

“I know it is.” Sherlock said. He didn’t like being told he was insecure. Secure was part of what he thought he was.

“What did you do while I was gone?” he asked. Sherlock shrugged.

“Not much of anything.” He sighed. “I lay on the sofa and thought about the case. I thought about you. I thought about what I was going to do to you.”

John sighed. “Even watching you would have been better than what I was doing.”

“What did Lestrade say?” 

“I really don’t remember much. I was busy texting, my love.” Sherlock snuggled his ass against John’s cock. “You can’t be seriously ready again.” John was starting to feel the age difference between the two men.

“With you I am always ready. But no.”

John recounted what he could remember from the meeting and his time in the pub. Sherlock made comments under his breath about Donovan and Anderson.  
“What did Mycroft want?” Sherlock asked as they began to drift towards sleep.

“It was strange.”

“It was Mycroft.”

“Yes. But it was strange even for him. He gave me the ‘I like you but I will kill you if you hurt my brother speech’. And then I guess his blessing.”

“Blessing.”

“Yes.” Sherlock turned around in John’s arms and John traced his face with his fingers.

“I never know where to look when it comes to my brother.” 

“Love, can we not talk about him while we are in bed?”

“That is one thing we agree upon.” Sherlock found John’s lips with his own and the kissed lazily until they both fell asleep, facing each other and holding on.

John awoke when Sherlock stiffened his arms. Sherlock put his hand over John’s mouth before he could protest. John’s training kicked in and he was up and off the bed grabbing clothes and pulling them on. Sherlock relaxed a bit. It was only Molly.

“John?” she called up the stairs.

“Be down in a moment.” He answered. He spun to Sherlock reclined naked in his bed. There was only a sheet hanging over his groin and John wanted nothing more than to ignore his visitor and crawl back between the lucky sheets and let Sherlock have his way with him.

“Remember, grief. I’ll stay here until she leaves.” Sherlock stated. John leaned in for quick kiss and ran down the stairs. Molly was in the living room, her fingers trailing over some of Sherlock’s things.

“Hello, love.” John greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. He looked at the clock. She was on her way to work.

“I haven’t talked to you in a while. I wanted to see how you were.” She said. She sat down on the sofa tense in what the answer would be.

“I’m okay. Sherlock is helping.” He bite the inside of his lip. 

“Where is he?” Molly asked looking around the flat.

“You know Sherlock.” John said with a shrug. Molly noted John’s appearance and his bed hair.

“Did I wake you?” she asked concerned. John yawned and waved her off.

“Yeah, but I needed to get up. I want to get back to the flat and get some more things sorted. I need to collect the mail and pay a few bills. I need to get a few things from storage….” John had a moment. He reached into his back pocket and hoped that Sherlock’s phone was on silent. He quickly sent off a text as he went into the kitchen. He needed coffee more than tea this morning.

“Key not to box. Storage locker. I think I know where to look. Give me ten to send Molly on her way. Then shower. Then back to work. X-JW”

John put the coffee pot on and Molly joined him in the kitchen. His phone buzzed and Molly saw the text on the screen.

“You are bloody brilliant. X-SH”

“Are you and Sherlock working on a case?” Molly asked trying to seem off handed.

“Yes. He thought it would be good for me. Less time sitting around brooding. More movement. I just realized something about a key.”

“You look better. Thinner but better.” Molly noted. John quickly made a calculation about how many calories he was burning with Sherlock and decided that once Molly left they needed to go out for a proper breakfast.

“I am better in a way. I’m focused. It’s helping me cope.” Molly put her hand on his arm and he smiled. “You’ve been great Molly. But don’t worry about me. Sherlock and I are taking care of each other.” Molly sighed. “Don’t worry about me. And don’t worry about feeling guilty or anything. Have fun on your date tonight.” 

Molly stood open mouthed looking at John. “How did you know?” she asked stunned.

“I think I have been living with Sherlock too long.” He answered. Molly laughed and John looked at the ceiling. He was right below his own bed where Sherlock was laying naked and wanting.

“Maybe.” Molly smiled and kissed John goodbye. John poured two cups of coffee and whistled at the stairs when Molly had shut the front door. Sherlock stood on the top landing in all his naked glory.

“She’s gone. I need coffee and a shower. But I don’t want to do it alone.” Sherlock came down the stairs and pulled John in for a kiss. John laughed and pulled his shirt off on the way to the bathroom. There was now a trail of clothes that lead to the bathroom and John turned on the taps.

“Molly saw the text you sent me back.” John said as Sherlock was running his hands down his back. He stopped and pulled John’s back to his front. He grabbed him by the cock and filled his hand with shower gel.

“Really.” He said. John lost his train of thought while Sherlock stroke him into an orgasm while his own cock got harder against his ass. John helped Sherlock with his cock and they finished in the shower. John went up to his room with his now cold coffee and dressed. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment.

John looked out his bedroom door and down the stair. He remembered the first time he walked through the door. He thought about his limp and the way Sherlock tricked him into running after the cab. He thought about all the cases. He thought about Sherlock leaving him. He thought about him jumping off of the roof. He shook his head and pushed all the black thoughts that were gathering at the edges of his mind. He pulled on his socks, grabbed his boots and met Sherlock on the landing.

“So, tell me what your discovery was.” Sherlock said as they walked into Speedy’s for something to eat. Sherlock grabbed coffee but John shot him a look.

“I will tell you, but right now, you need to eat. I know how many calories I am burning and I know what I have eaten. You are burning as many and you don’t eat. You need to eat.” Sherlock looked into John’s blue eyes and he nodded solemnly. He picked up a sausage roll and they decided to sit out on their stoop to eat.

“Thank you.” John said. He sat as close as he dared next to Sherlock.

“For what?” 

“Eating.”

“Thank you for caring enough about me.” John smiled into his coffee. “Tell me where we are going.”

“I thought about what you had said. And I thought about the key. I know that Mary was well organized. I am sure she had a storage locker. I am sure that there is a bill or something at the flat.”

“Storage locker.” Sherlock thought about it for a minute. “It makes sense. She needed someplace to store her things. Her kit.”

“Yes. And I don’t think that after we were married and we were good, that she would get rid of it all. She was a creature of habit. There would be passports, money, maybe guns.”

“So, off to the flat than?” Sherlock stood up and hailed a cab. John followed feeling better to have eaten and two cups of coffee.

They sat in the back of the cab and Sherlock threaded his hand into John’s that was lying next to him on the seat. John smiled and relaxed into his hand.

“Molly has a new boyfriend.” John stated. Sherlock knitted his brow and looked at John.

“Did she tell you?”

“No, I figured it out.” Sherlock raised his eyebrow and John reached up to run his finger over the still healing cut. “Those stiches need to come out soon. But, Molly was wearing the top she only wears when she’s going out. Her hair was different than normal, a little fancier. She was wearing perfume and a new shade of lipstick.”

“You saw all that?” Sherlock was impressed.

“I learned from the best.”

“I hope that she is as happy as I am.” Sherlock said. He pulled John’s hand up to his lips and kissed the back of it. 

“I hope so too.” John said. They watched John’s home come into view. Sherlock let go of John’s hand and paid the cabbie. They went into the flat and John collected the mail that had accumulated. He went to the desk in the sitting room and put down the mail. He pulled out paper and began to make a list of things he still needed to take care of, including forwarding the mail back to Baker Street. He pulled out the household ledger and flipped through it. There was nothing that seemed different.

Sherlock scanned the books on the shelves. He saw Jane Austen, some of John’s medical books, Dickens and a few modern romance novels. But there was one that seemed out of place. A thin ledger size book. Sherlock pulled it off the shelf and opened it up to the last entry. It was coded and Sherlock looked over the numbers.

“Did Mary ever speak of codes or code breaking?” he asked John. Thought for a moment.

“Nothing that I can specifically think of.” He answered. Sherlock sat down on the sofa and John came and joined him.

“You found something?” John asked.

“I did.” He handed it to John and John flipped through the pages. John thought for a second and went into the bedroom. He came back with another book that was similar in size and color.

“I found this in the closet a month or so ago. I flipped through it and wondered if it was something from her past she held onto for security.” Sherlock opened the new book and realized that they were two parts of the same code.

“It looks like longitude and latitudes.” Sherlock stated. John pulled out Mary’s laptop and fired it up. Sherlock entered some of the numbers and he found that he was correct.  
“I wonder if these are drop points.” John said. Sherlock turned to John in shock.

“Do you think she was working again?” Sherlock asked. John’s image of Mary was starting to unravel.

“John?” Sherlock asked. John shook his head.

“I’m fine. And no I don’t think so. It was just a thought.”

“It was a good one. I seem to be rubbing off on you.” John smiled and got up from the sofa. He walked to the kitchen and pulled down the bottle of scotch he had in the cupboard. He took a pull from the bottle and he felt Sherlock’s heat before he touched him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sherlock offered. John shook his head and Sherlock exhaled.

“Take the books to Mycroft. Let his minions figure out what it is.”

“I will.” Sherlock watched John take another pull from the bottle. He put the top back on and placed it back in the cabinet. He walked around the flat, pulling a few things here and there into a bag. He was collecting the last things he wanted.

“Ask Mycroft to save my books. Search the lap top. I’m done. I’m not coming back here. Tell him to burn it all.” John walked out of the flat and down the road. Sherlock sighed and pulled out his phone. John needed some space to deal with his emotions about his wife.

Sherlock sat down on the sofa. He sent off a text and waited for a rapid reply. When none came, he gathered up the two books, the laptop and left the flat. Mycroft’s long black car pulled up next to Sherlock. He sighed and climbed in the back.

“You couldn’t text me back?” Sherlock asked. “You had to show up instead?”

“You said you had something for me to look at. I was in the neighborhood….”

“Sure you were.” Sherlock handed the books and laptop to Mycroft.

“Dr. Watson seemed upset. Did the love birds have a spat?” Mycroft teased his brother. Sherlock sighed and looked at his brother.

“No, we did not fight. Emotional overload I think.”

“Right, so, what is all this?” Mycroft waved a hand over the books. Sherlock looked at his brother. He looked at the fine lines starting to settle at his eyes and the wrinkles in his waistcoat. Mycroft seemed normal on the outside, but Sherlock saw the worry behind the eyes.

“The books look like latitude and longitudes. We don’t know what they mean. And John wants the flat cleared. Send his books to Baker Street. He said to scrub the laptop. See if there is anything useful. But he doesn’t want to come back here. He asked if you would take care of it.” Sherlock looked out the window, a worried crease on his forehead.  
“Dr. Watson is finally coming to terms with his wife’s former occupation. And that is what has made him upset?” Mycroft said.

“I believe so.”

“Consider it done.” Mycroft answered. “I hope this will bring him a little peace.” Sherlock nodded. “Have you gotten any further on the flash drive search?”

“John thinks that Mary had some sort of rented storage space. But he can’t remember her ever mentioning anything. We have not found a bill. She most likely paid for a length of time in cash. She might have had a post box, so things did not go to the flat in the mail.”

“Have you considered something she could easily access that would not appear out of the ordinary?”

Sherlock turned to look at his brother. Mycroft had a slight smile and a gleam in his eye. He was onto something. Sherlock turned the information over in his head. His eyes grew wide and he met Mycroft’s. Mycroft smiled as his brother came to the same thought as him. Sherlock felt John’s keys in his pocket.

“I don’t know if I should go without John.” Sherlock said. Mycroft nodded. They had reached Baker Street.

“I understand. I will have the flat taken care of first thing tomorrow. We will bring over the books and anything else that the good doctor might want. We will dispose of everything, clean the place and set up for a rental.”

“Thank you, for John’s sake.” Sherlock stated before he got out of the car. He stopped. “Will you have your team look for hidden things? Hollows in the walls, safes, and the like?”  
“Of course. I’m sure there is something there. But unknown what.” Sherlock nodded and shut the car door. He stood on the pavement outside of his flat and wondered what to do next. John would be a while and he didn’t have his keys. It was evening and Sherlock was hungry and missing John. He pulled out his phone and sent John a text.

“I understand you need some time. I want to give you some space. It’s hard for me. I want to come find you and hold you until you are better. But I won’t unless you ask me to. I am hungry. I’m going to go to Angelo’s for something to eat. Join me if you wish. I have your keys. I love you.- SH” Sherlock sent the message and walked off to Angelo’s. He sat in the window and ate his pasta alone. John had not sent him a text back.

Sherlock thanks Angelo and the large stocky Italian restaurateur hugged his friend. “You look sad Sherlock. You never look sad.”

“My friend lost his wife and child a few weeks ago. I am feeling sad for him.”

“Dr. Watson. I saw it in the paper. Very sad. You bring him by. Make sure he eats. He always eats good here. On the house.” Sherlock smiled a bit.

“I will. Angelo. Thank you.” Sherlock left and walked back to Baker Street.


	14. The Great Sulk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock make a discovery.

CHAPTER 14- The Great Sulk

Sherlock rounded the corner onto Baker Street and John was sitting on the stoop. He was staring out into space and it was all Sherlock could do not to break into a run and gather his lover up into his arms. Sherlock stopped and processed the emotions that were coursing through him. Protection. Love. Anger. Sadness. Pain. He hated seeing John this way and he wanted to envelope him and protect him from his inner most thoughts. Sherlock walked over to John and sat down next to him.

“I forgot my keys in the flat.” John said. Sherlock nodded and reached in his pocket. He handed John his keys, but said nothing. 

John nodded and put the keys in his pocket. “I’m sorry I stormed off.” John’s voice was sad and quiet. 

“It’s fine.” Sherlock said.

“I got your text, but I just wanted a bit more time alone.”

“I understand.” Sherlock said.

“You gave the books to Mycroft?” John had noticed the car while he was walking. Sherlock was impressed with the further developing skills of the older doctor.

“I did. And the laptop. He said that he would take care of the rest.” Sherlock watched John’s sandy blonde head bob up and down in a nod. He longed to reach out and touch him. Touch him and hold him, but he would only do it when John was ready. John’s posture was still ram rod straight. A sign that John was still upset. Sherlock’s sluggish brain sent him a tingle of reminder that there was something else he needed to remember. He stood up with a shock as he remembered his conversation with Mycroft.

John looked up at the tall detective and tilted his head in question. “What?”

“I just remembered. Mycroft suggested that maybe there wasn’t a rental locker. That maybe she had a locker or closet or something in a place that she could go and not look completely out of place. Like a place that she worked.” Sherlock wanted John to figure it out. He counted the beats until he did. It didn’t take John long. John stood up and hailed a cab. He clutched his keys in his hand.

“Your brother is a fucking genius.” John exclaimed. Sherlock laughed at that.

“I don’t know about that….” Sherlock said. John was laughing.

“Right under my nose.” John climbed into the cab and gave the address of the surgery. He turned to Sherlock as they pulled away from the curb and took his hands and placed them on either side of Sherlock’s face. He pulled him towards him and planted a deep kiss on his lips. Sherlock gasped in surprise and leaned into the kiss with John.

“I missed you.” Sherlock said as he settle back into the cab seat. John held his hand on his lap and settled his other arm around Sherlock. He felt a twinge as his bad shoulder extended to the end of his range of motion. Sherlock felt the little shudder and leaned into John to relieve the stress.

“I missed you too. But I needed to clear my head some.” He said.

“I know.” They pulled up to the surgery and John paid the cab. He jumped out and went to the open the door and turn off the alarm.

“If anyone asks, if anyone comes, I am here to get a few things out of my desk. I am leaving a note that I need some time off to deal with…. Well…”

“Solid plan.” 

“Good then. Let’s begin to look for what my wife hid here.” John and Sherlock pulled open cupboard after cupboard. They opened drawers and desks. John stood in the back hall with his keys in his hand, thinking. Something came to him and he went to the staff lounge. He opened the door and stared at the lockers that the nurses and other staff used to keep their personal items during the day. He fingered his keys, stalling for a moment.

“Did Mary have a locker?” Sherlock asked from the door. John nodded. He was putting all the pieces together. He thought of Mary’s routine during the day. She kept her purse in her desk. But she still had a locker. John never remembered her using it.

“She never went in it.” John took a breath and went to the locker that was assigned to Mary. The odd key on his ring slid into the lock and he turned it. The door opened and John gasped. It was full of a black canvas bag. Shoved in to the small square space. John yanked it out by the end and put it on the table. He watched it for a moment and Sherlock came to put his hand on John’s shoulder. John nodded and pulled open the zipper.

John pulled up a chair from the table and sat down. Sherlock was walking around the table surveying all that was once inside the bag. Three hand guns, each with a suppressor. About €100,000.00 cash. Five passports, one British, two American, one Canadian and one German. Two pairs of black track pants, three black jumpers, brunette hair dye, glasses, make up, a small tablet computer and three flash drives. None of which fit the descriptions that they were given.

“Ready at moment’s notice, wasn’t she?” John growled. His grief was now bordering on anger and Sherlock was concerned that it wasn’t the right kind of anger.

“She was well trained. It was habit.” Sherlock stated trying to calm John down. John stood up and started to shove things back into the bag. He pick up on the hand guns and check the chamber. It was loaded. He put it in the back of his jeans, the familiar weight of the hand gun in the small of his back centering him. He took the bag and walked out of the room. He turned off lights and reset the alarm. He wrote a quick note to his boss and left it on his desk. John waited for Sherlock to exit and locked the door behind him.

John dumped the bag on the sofa and stalked into the kitchen. He found his bottle of whiskey and poured himself a drink. Sherlock hung up his coat and noted that John had yet to remove the gun from the back of his pants. Sherlock walked to fireplace and busied himself with looking at the things that had collected themselves there. He watched John out of the corner of his eye, trying to ascertain where the rest of the night was going.

John put the bottle away and slammed his hand into the kitchen table. Sherlock jumped at the sound and turned to look at John.  
“Please put the bag in your wardrobe. I don’t want to look at it anymore tonight. Then come up to bed.” John demanded. Sherlock nodded and went to his room with the bag. He sat on the bed for a moment while he listened to John walk around the room and settle into the bed. Sherlock changed into his pajama pants, tee shirt and dressing gown. He turned off the lights on his way upstairs. John was laying on his side, his back to the door and Sherlock. Sherlock lifted the duvet and settled into the bed on his back, staring at the ceiling.

“Where did you put the gun?” he asked John.

“Drawer of night table on this side.” John said. He sighed and Sherlock felt him roll over to face Sherlock. John’s strong arm sought Sherlock out and Sherlock moved closer to John so that he could pull John towards him. John shifted so he was against Sherlock’s side and rested his head on Sherlock’s chest. His hand sought out the soft coal black curls and twisted them absently.  
“I’m sorry.” John said.

“Don’t be.”

“I am so angry right now. I just want to sleep and see if my mood improves in the morning.” John said. Sherlock kissed the top of John’s sandy blonde hair and pulled him closer. He ran his hand up and down John’s spine and John seemed to relax a bit. John listened to the steady beat of Sherlock’s heart and after some time drifted off to sleep.

Sherlock let John sleep for hours before he gently moved him onto the pillows and got out of bed. He went downstairs and into his bedroom. He pulled his laptop closer and put the first of the flash drives from the bag into the computer.

The first drive was nothing more than pictures of Mary and John. Sentiment. Things she wanted to take with her if she had to run. The second drive was marginally better, a complete medical history of Mary including various surgeries, gun shots, knife wounds. Everything she needed to remember and dates for her records.

The third drive was the best by far. It was a series of letters, almost like journal entries. It was Mary’s explanation to her unborn child of things that she was unable to say out loud. Sherlock decided that it was too invasive to John to read them now. But he scanned them quickly for any information that would be helpful. There was very little that he didn’t already know. Another dead end.

Sherlock returned to the bed about three hours later, feeling tired and wanting to appear to be sleeping so John wasn’t suspicious. John hadn’t moved since Sherlock left and Sherlock wondered if the drinking was to blame. He nestled in next to John and wrapped his arms around him, feeling very sleepy and slipped off into slumber.

Sherlock was famous for sulking. He would go days without talking, brooding around the flat. He would lie on the sofa for hours, thinking and acting like a child. But John’s sulks were different. John moved. He never sat still. He would go about his normal routine, slamming doors, items down onto tables and stomping a bit as he walked. Sherlock had seen a small sulk or two in the years they lived together, but this was different. Sherlock who rarely flinched at anything found himself jumping at every slam and bang that John made. Mrs. Hudson became concerned that Sherlock was shooting the walls again and came up to check on what the noise was.

“Sherlock, if you don’t stop this racquet…” she began. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, trying to read a file that Mycroft had emailed him on the locations that Mary had written down. Mrs. Hudson stopped and Sherlock flashed her a look from his chair.

“It’s not me.” He said. Mrs. Hudson stretched her neck and saw John in the kitchen slamming and banging his way through making tea. Sherlock looked at Mrs. Hudson with a beseeching look. She nodded her head and waved her hand at him as she entered the kitchen.

“John, dear, may I help?” she asked in her most pleasant way. John looked up not having heard her come into the room.

“I’m fine.” He snarled at her. She yelped a bit. From Sherlock she was used to it. But from John it was scary.

“Anger is a natural part of grieving.” She stated in a soft soothing voice. “Maybe you should sit and I will make the tea.”

“I am perfectly capable of making tea.” John said as he slammed the pot on the table with such force the lid rattled. Mrs. Hudson nodded. Put her hand on John’s for a minute and left the flat. John heard the front door shut a few minutes later. Sherlock had enough. There was no reason for John to yell and be upset with Mrs. Hudson. He would rather John yelled at him.

“You scared the poor woman.” Sherlock said to John as he sat down in his chair. “There is no reason for it. When she comes home you need to go down and apologize.”

“Apologize?! Me? How often do you apologize when you get upset and snap?”

“Not often enough. But we aren’t talking about me. We are talking about you.”

“Well, while we are on the subject, how about the way you never wash a dish?” John railed. He went on for another five minutes without break of all the things Sherlock didn’t do. Sherlock was pleased that John was yelling at him. He was yelling out some of his anger.

“And why…. Why…. Won’t you just tell me the truth.” John finished. Sherlock tilted his head to look at John. He was deflated and sitting on the edge of his chair.

“What truth?” Sherlock asked. John didn’t answer. He eyes were full of tears and threatened to spill over. John got up and grabbed his jacket. He left the house with a slam. Sherlock knew that the last thing John said was not directed at him. Sherlock waited a few minutes before grabbing his phone, coat and following out the door. 

Sherlock walked for three hours, just wandering and clearing his head when he got the phone call he was waiting for. Lestrade.  
“Yes, detective inspector?” Sherlock answered.

“I need your help.” 

“Again?” Sherlock scoffed.

“It’s John. I have him in the back of a car. Drunk. Angry. He tried to pick a fight with some man in a pub. He’s bouncing off the walls in the car.” 

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“I’ve talked the victim out of pressing charges. Explained that he had just lost his wife and daughter. How long has he been this way?” Lestrade asked. Sherlock counted in head quickly.

“About two days.”

“And?”

“And What? I will come collect him, Lestrade. I will take him home and put him to bed. What else should I do?”

“Fine.” Lestrade snapped. Sherlock hung up his phone and hailed a cab. He got out as Lestrade was sitting on the bonnet of his car. John was in the back, his yelling had died down some and he was beginning to slur his words.

“Give me the keys.” Sherlock held out his hand to Lestrade. Lestrade opened the car and John tried to jump out at him.

“We are mates! Why did you shove me into your car? I was right. That guy was a tosser. He deserved to get hit.” John was screaming at Lestrade. Sherlock noticed a small bruise on John’s right cheek bone that was going to hurt in the morning. Sherlock took his right hand and gently felt for broken bones under the discoloration.

“Owww. Stop it you arse.” John slurred at him. John’s eyes tried to focus on who was touching him and he recognized Sherlock. “There are better places to touch me.”

“John.” Sherlock warned.

“What? I’m drunk and I’m randy. Let’s go home and go to bed.” John slurred. Lestrade chuckled and Sherlock bristled.

“No, John. You are going home to bed.”

“I guess he’s drunker than I thought.” Greg added when Sherlock had to hold John up. “Get in, I’ll drive you.” Sherlock poured John into the cruiser.

“I love you.” John slurred. Greg chuckled again from the front seat. Sherlock held John up and gave his hand a small pat. “No, really, Sherlock… I do.” Greg laughed harder.

“I don’t envy his hang over in the morning.” Greg said as Sherlock hoisted John out of the car. 

“Thank you.” Sherlock said simply and carried John inside. At the top of the first set of stairs, John looked green Sherlock took him into the toilet where all the alcohol John had consumed came back to visit. John was pale and sweating when he was done. He sagged back against the wall.

“Fuck.” John said. Sherlock nodded and helped him up. He thought that his bed was a better choice for the night and settled John into the side closer to the door. John tried to raise his hand for Sherlock as he sat and looked at John. But his eyes were crossed and Sherlock was a bit too far away. He leaned into John’s hand and it stroked his face.

“I really do love you.” John said as his eyes fought to stay open.

“I love you too. Now sleep.” Sherlock said. John nodded and closed his eyes.

“Cold.” He mumbled. Sherlock went around the other side of the bed and spooned John. John moaned a bit. “Better.” Sherlock stroked his face until he fell asleep.

Sherlock got up from the bed and changed his clothes. He took his phone and went to sit in the dark with a small glass of scotch. He swirled the amber liquid in the glass and swallowed it down in one shot.

“Home safe and sound?- MH” Sherlock’s text notice went off.

“Yes. He’s sleeping.- SH”

“Is there more scotch?-MH”

“Yes.-SH” Sherlock got up and poured himself another glass and one for Mycroft. Mycroft sat down across from his brother in John’s chair.

“He’s going to feel like hell in the morning.” Sherlock stated.

“I am sure of that.” Mycroft stated. He took a tentative drink of the scotch and deciding it was passable, a larger drink.

“Why are you here?” Sherlock asked after some time. The two brothers had been sitting in silence, each sipping the rare vintage.  
“I had some news to share with you.”

“And will you be sharing it?”

“We found a possible link between the addresses and Mary.”

“Well….” Sherlock was starting to get upset with his brother.

“The numbers were latitudes and longitudes. That deduction was correct. And from the casual observation they were nothing more than parks, docks, little shops. All around the world. Through careful cross reference, we can put Mary’s movement in every city.”

“So?” Sherlock didn’t see that it was that important. Most likely places she dropped or met people.

“Well, one was of interest. It kept coming up. Over and over again. New York. Central Park. A point called Wagner’s Cove. I think it was something more.”

“New York.” Sherlock began to run his mind over a trip with John. Maybe it was something they both needed. A chance to be free and away from everything they had sitting on their heads.

“Do you think there is a chance that the flash drive is there?” Sherlock asked. Mycroft did something he never did. He shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t know.” He sighed and sat back. Sherlock noticed he was wary.

“Maybe.” Sherlock steepled his fingers and Mycroft watched his brother think.

“Text me your flight details.”

“Yes.” Sherlock said. Mycroft nodded and left the flat. Sherlock decided that he was tired and went to lay down with John.

Sherlock slept for a while and he was sitting up in the bed with his back against the headboard and his knees up and supporting his lap top. His long slender fingers were flying over the keys.

John moaned next to him. Sherlock stopped typing. “I’m sorry if I woke you.” He whispered. He knew that John’s head was going to hurt. 

“’s okay.” John slurred. His mouth felt as if a flock of sheep had taken up residence there. His eyes hurt and his stomach muscles were sore from the vomiting. Sherlock pressed two tablets into his hand and a glass of water followed.

“I have so much to tell you.” Sherlock said. John recoiled at the sound. “Get in the shower. I’ll make tea.” John nodded into the bed and Sherlock left him in his misery for a moment. John sat on the edge of the bed and his stomach lurched again. But blessedly there was nothing left in it. He staggered to the shower and stood under the taps.

By the time he emerged, he felt better. The medication for his head that Sherlock had given him was starting to work and he was sure that after a cup of tea he would feel even better. He came into the kitchen wearing his robe and Sherlock was humming as he made toast.

“Are you humming?” John asked. Sherlock stopped and thought about it. 

“I guess I am.” He said with a shrug. He went back to his tasks in the kitchen. John poured himself a cup of tea and went back to watching Sherlock. Sherlock set a plate of toast down in front of him and worked on a cup of tea for himself.

“Can you tell me what you were humming?” John was sure it was some posh opera.

“U2, I think.”

“Really?”

“I like them.” Sherlock shrugged again. John noticed he was in a good mood this morning and wished that he felt better to enjoy it.

“What did I do last night?” John asked. Sherlock gave him a half smile.

“You scared a very lovely old lady, screamed at me about all my faults, went to the pub, got drunk, tried to hit a guy and got arrested. Then vomited.” Sherlock thought for a minute. “Oh, and you outed us to Lestrade.”

“I did what?” John said, louder than he anticipated and he winced as his head hurt.

“Which part?”

“Start from the beginning.” John said. Sherlock smiled.

“In time. But we have to pack first. We have to be at Heathrow in a little over two hours. Where is your passport?”

“Passport? Pack? Where are we going?” John asked as Sherlock rose to get his bags.

“New York.” And he disappeared into his room.


	15. New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first holiday? Hotel rooms are such

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to apologize. I am working blind. My contacts are killing me and I am having a really hard time seeing my screen with only my glasses. I wanted to get this up tonight. So far this is the half way mark as to what it written and what is left I am not sure. Lot of surprises coming yet. And a ship that I didn't expect. Certainly not cannon but I hope that something John said earlier works and I end up keeping it. But in a few days when I get to editing it.... who knows.  
> Love the response. So great for my first piece.   
> So, sorry about the format tonight. Just too tired.

CHAPTER 15- New York “New York?!” John yelled down the hall.  
“Yes, John. Now go pack. I’ll explain in the car.” Sherlock heard John hesitate for a moment and go up the stairs to his room. He appeared twenty minutes later.  
“I’m trusting that you are going to explain all this in the car on the way.” John started.  
“Naturally.” Sherlock said.  
“Grab some money from the bag.” John stated. Sherlock looked confused. “If we are going on vacation and I assume this has something to do with Mary, the least that can happen is that she pays for the trip. Might as well use it up.” Sherlock thought for a moment and went to grab some money. He handed John about €25,000. John flipped through it and shoved it in his jeans pocket. One of Mycroft’s cars was waiting for them at the curb.  
John turned to Sherlock as the car pulled away from the curb. He gave him his ‘start explaining’ look and Sherlock settled into the black leather of the seat.  
“What would you like to discuss first?” Sherlock asked.  
“Why not the whole thing, in order.” Sherlock nodded. He told John about the things he had done, about the pub and Lestrade calling him. John cringed when he told him about his yelling at Mrs. Hudson and John made a mental note to make sure to pick something up for her in New York to apologize. John ducked his head when Sherlock told him about his yelling at him.  
“I’m sorry.” John said with embarrassment. Sherlock grabbed his hand and raised it to his lips with a kiss.  
“No matter. I deserve it now and again.”  
“And I guess I was punched at the pub too.” John said tenderly touching his cheek. I was fully bruised this morning and Sherlock traced it gently with his fingers.  
“Yes. I assume so. But when I examined it last night, that’s when you started trying to out us to Lestrade.” John looked shocked.  
“Exactly what did I say?” he asked.  
“You said that there were better places to touch you and that you wanted to go home and have a shag. Lestrade took it as you being drunk. Then you told me that you love me in the car as he drove us home.” John gritted his teeth and scrunched up his eyes.  
“How much shite am I in with him?” John asked.  
“Not much. He thinks you are upset about Mary and Jane’s deaths. He also thinks you are a man who professes his love to everyone when he is drunk.” John nodded. Sherlock told him about his sickness and Mycroft’s visit.  
“So, that’s why New York.” John said. Sherlock nodded. They had arrived at the airport and Mycroft’s man was checking them in for their flight.  
Sherlock decided that since he was charging the flight’s to Mycroft’s credit card, they might as well fly first class. They settled into their seats and sipped champagne as their flight took off.  
“Have you ever been to New York?” Sherlock asked John.  
“No. Always wanted to go.” John looked at Sherlock. “Thanks for this.”  
“What?”  
“I think I needed to get away.” He said. Sherlock nodded. John grabbed his hand and threaded his fingers through Sherlock’s. Sherlock smiled at John.  
“So, what is this?” he asked. He wanted to make sure that he understood the rules that John had set in head for their vacation.  
“Well, this is me holding hands with my boyfriend while we are flying to New York.”  
“So, no pretense?” Sherlock asked.  
“I figure not. There is no one we directly know in America. I think we can relax a bit while we are there.” He leaned in close to Sherlock’s ear. “And I plan on fucking you hard when we get to the hotel.” Sherlock smiled and felt the low rumble of John’s voice tug at his groin.  
“I should be saying the same.” Sherlock said. John smiled and kissed Sherlock’s mouth. A few gasps came from across them where a pair of old English biddies sat. John smiled into his kiss and Sherlock laughed a bit. They settled into each other the best they could on the plane and talked throughout the flight.  
John reminisced about childhood trips to the shore and camping as a child. Sherlock talked of all the countries he had been to, being vague about the details as to the times he had visited these places. John knew that he was being careful so that John didn’t know how many places he ran to while he was dead.  
“When were you last in New York?” John asked. Sherlock chewed on his lip for a moment.  
“Right after…..”  
“You jumped. For Christ’s sake Sherlock. Let’s stop dancing around the issue. You jumped. You died. I grieved. You came back. We have moved on. Yes, I can be sensitive about it, but we need to start talking more open around each other or this relationship won’t last.”  
“Yes, John. You’re right.” Sherlock said. “I came to New York the day after I saw you at the grave. I needed to settle and reboot a bit. I was sore and in pain from the jump. And I knew that I could find some anonymity in New York. I stayed for about two months while I worked things out.”  
“Where are we staying?” John asked when he saw a sad look in Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock was grateful for the change of subject and spoke of the hotel he had chosen.  
“But we can cancel the reservation. I need to amend it any way.”  
“Cancel it? Change it? Why?”  
“I reserved two rooms. We can go someplace else if you want.”  
“Sherlock, love, where ever you picked is fine. And I told you I wanted you in my bed.”  
“Good.” Sherlock’s sadness was gone. They cuddled a bit as they watched some movie on the plane for the rest of their flight and Sherlock kept the comments about how unrealistic the movie was to a minimum.  
Before the flight attendant could get the words out of her mouth when they landed about turning on their phones, Sherlock’s was on and he was texting at a rapid pace.  
“Mycroft?” John asked. Sherlock nodded. John reached for his own phone and switched it on. He realized he had ten missed calls from Lestrade and sixteen from Molly. “Shite.” John hissed as he showed Sherlock his screen.  
“Better call one of them back.” Sherlock said as the plane taxied to the gate.  
“Greg first. I need to apologize for last night. He dialed the number and raised the phone to his ear.  
“Do you think you could answer your bloody phone or get that arse you live with to answer his once in a while?” Greg yelled into the phone. John pulled it away from his ear for a moment and Sherlock chuckled at the dressing down John was getting.  
“Yeah, well, sorry about that. There is a rule about having you phone on during a flight.” John started.  
“Flight?” Greg yelled. “Tell me that you are having me on.”  
“No. Listen, Greg, I only have a moment before we have to ring off and go through customs. Sherlock suggested a trip. Something to get my mind off of…. Everything. I decided he was right. I’m sorry about last night.”  
“So, where are you two then?” Greg asked.  
“New York.”  
“The states?!”  
“Yeah, mate. Sorry I didn’t call you. After last night….”  
“Yeah. You were pretty pissed.” Greg chuckled. “How’s the face?”  
“It hurts.” John said. Sherlock gently ran the back of his hand along John’s jaw and John leaned into the touch. He smiled.  
“Please call Molly. Let her know that you are okay. She’s out of her head with worry.” Greg said.  
“I will. When we get out of the airport. Would you stop by and check on Mrs. Hudson for me?” John asked. “I was pretty rotten to her last night.”  
“Yeah, of course. How long will you be gone?” Greg asked. John looked at Sherlock. Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and got up from his seat to grab his carryon bag.  
“I don’t know. Until…. I feel a bit better.” John said. “I’ve got to ring off now.”  
“Have a good time. Get out. But stay away from the pubs. I don’t have any influence in New York.” Greg laughed and John joined in. John hung up his phone and he exited the plane with Sherlock, hand in hand.  
After customs, they went to the baggage claim at JFK International Airport. As they came down the moving stairs, John saw a sign in front of a man in a black suit. S. Holmes / Dr. Watson it read.  
“Mycroft?” John asked. Sherlock nodded. “Seems he thought of everything.”  
“Yes.” Sherlock said and laughed. John noticed how relaxed Sherlock was and began to relax himself. They gathered their bags and handed them to the big man in the suit.  
They followed their bags to the black car that was sitting at the curb. The engine was running and it had diplomatic plates. John realized that the man stowing the luggage was only on half of a pair that were assigned to John and Sherlock and he raised his eyebrows in question at Sherlock.  
“It seems that my brother is afraid of something happening to either of us and in a place where he cannot easily control the outcome. So he has sent two babysitters.” Sherlock pulled out his phone and began to text his brother.  
“Driver and muscle? That is a bit much even for you, brother.-SH”  
“I want you to be comfortable.-MH”  
“I will assume that they already know where we are staying.-SH”  
“We have already changed the reservation and swept the room. Every precaution is in place. The two men are assigned to you for the duration of your vacation.-MH”  
“We don’t need….. Fine. But we only need one. I don’t plan on being away from John at any point.-SH”  
“What the two of you….-MH” Sherlock sniggered at his phone. Mycroft fell right into Sherlock’s trap.  
John pulled out his phone and decided that he needed to call Molly before it got any later. He looked out the window at the passing scenes as they headed into Manhattan proper.  
“Hello John.” Molly said with a resolute sigh in her voice.  
“I take it Greg called you then?” John answered her.  
“Yes. Damn you!” she shouted. Molly never cursed.  
“I’m sorry Mol. It was a spur of the moment thing. I never thought to call anyone.” John tried to sound apologetic, but he was failing.  
“I’ve always wanted to go to New York. What’s it like?” she asked.  
“We’ve just left the airport. So, I haven’t seen much.”  
“We will have dinner when you get back. You will tell me all about it then.” She stated. John agreed and rang off as she started to yawn.  
John and Sherlock got to their room and John flopped on the bed. He was tired from the trip and from his late night the night before. He was hungry too.  
“I could get used to this.” John said. Sherlock eyed him hungrily and John smiled.  
“Get used to what?” Sherlock asked. He slinked across the room and lay down on his stomach next to John.  
“Used to dating a rich man. Being whisked away to different places. Staying in posh hotels.” He rolled onto his side and ran a hand down Sherlock’s back.  
“Anything for you.” Sherlock said. John leaned in and Sherlock turned his face towards John. He kissed him deeply and with love. After a moment, Sherlock’s tongue slipped into John’s mouth and they kissed with more passion and want. Sherlock rolled to his side to face John and grabbed the doctor around his waist, pulling him towards him. John laughed into his kiss and he felt Sherlock’s growing erection through his pants. “I remember you saying something about fucking me at the hotel.” Sherlock growled into John’s ear.  
“Oh, hell yes.” John said. But he pulled away from Sherlock. “I would love to, but I don’t know if I can. I’m starving.” Sherlock laughed.  
“Food.”  
“Yes, food first. Then sex. Then sleep. In that order.” Sherlock sat up on the bed.  
“Out or in?” John slid down next to him on the bed.  
“My first night in New York? Out of course.” Sherlock laughed.  
“Where? What do you want?”  
“You.”  
“To eat. Focus John.”  
“Like I said….. “ Sherlock grabbed him by the hand and lead him through the halls. The rode the lift down and John considered his choices.  
“Do you trust me?” Sherlock asked as he hailed a cab.  
“With my heart and my life.” John said.  
“I love you.” Sherlock said, gave John a quick kiss and climbed into the waiting cab. John smiled and climbed in next to him. Sherlock gave the driver an address and they sped through the city.  
Sherlock took John to a small out of the way pizza place in the large Italian section of Manhattan. Not only was the pizza better than John had ever had, Sherlock gave John a history of pizza. They strolled hand in hand through the village until John yawned. Sherlock hailed them a cab and they went back to the hotel.  
Sherlock and John walked into the lift and they were the only ones there. Sherlock was surprised when John grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him against his body as he leaned on the wall. He kissed him deeply and Sherlock found his hands in John’s hair. They pressed themselves against each other, their kisses becoming more passionate.  
“Ow.” John said as Sherlock accidentally hit John’s bruised face.  
“Sorry.” Sherlock muttered and stepped off the lift, cool as could be. He walked down the hall and John followed trying not to laugh at Sherlock. He was chewing on his lips as Sherlock opened the door. John stepped in behind him and tossed his coat on the nearest flat surface. Sherlock took his coat off, pulled his shirt out of his pants and turned towards John. He grabbed him around the waist and pulled him in close. He rested his forehead on John’s.  
“I love you.” He said. It was tender and meaningful.  
“I love you too.” John said. Sherlock held John’s gaze.  
“I don’t think you understand.” Sherlock said.  
“I do.” John answered.  
“I had a lot of reasons for booking this trip.” Sherlock said. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist and brought him closer.  
“I’m sure. But right now I am only interested in one of them.” John said. Sherlock smashed his mouth against John’s and slid his tongue past his lips and into his mouth. John grabbed Sherlock’s arse and bite his bottom lip. Sherlock moaned and John moved his hands around to Sherlock’s chest. He made fast work of the buttons on his shirt and pulled it off. He let it pool on the floor and ran his hands over Sherlock’s defined chest.  
“You are so….” John didn’t get to finish his thought. His mouth was silenced as Sherlock ripped his jumper and tee shirt off. He made quick work with his nimble fingers at John’s waist band and slid his jeans down. John kicked off his shoes and stepped out of his pants. Sherlock undid his own pants and shoes as he walked towards the bed. John followed him and surprised Sherlock by pushing him onto the bed. Sherlock landed on his stomach and John traced his long spine with his tongue. Sherlock moaned and John bit his arse.  
“Come here.” Sherlock said and turned over. John ran his hand up Sherlock’s inner thigh and rested it just to the side of his hard cock. Sherlock smiled and John raised his eyebrows. Sherlock laughed and John came in for a kiss. They mashed together, all tongues and teeth, bruising their lips as they snogged each other. Sherlock shifted and reached towards his bag that lay on the floor near his side of the bed. He came back with a bottle of lube and poured some in his hand. He reached down and stroked John’s hard cock with his hand. John moved his lips to Sherlock’s jaw line and traced a path to his ear. John nibbled a bit and Sherlock moaned. John noticed the absence of Sherlock’s hand on his cock, but felt something different. Sherlock ran his hand down John’s side and John realized that Sherlock was readying himself for John.  
“Fuck me.” Sherlock said. John moaned into Sherlock’s neck. He reached for the lube himself and stroked Sherlock’s cock that was resting on his belly. Sherlock moaned and lifted his hips for John to enter him. John shifted Sherlock down so he could and Sherlock made a noise in the back of his throat as John thrust into him.  
“God, I missed you inside me.” Sherlock said. John leaned forward and stroked Sherlock as he pounded deeper. Sherlock felt the tip of John’s cock hit his prostate and he began to leak pre-cum. John felt it leak onto his hand and it made him harder. He pulled out a bit and slammed in again. He took his time, changing his pace again and again. John was holding Sherlock on the edge of coming.  
“Please, John. I’m so close.”  
“I know. I just want to enjoy you.” John said. Sherlock reached up and kissed John.  
“I want to feel you come inside me.” He said. It was the final push John needed. He started off slow again and watched as Sherlock came unglued. John felt Sherlock’s orgasm rip through him and followed within seconds. John held onto Sherlock as they shuddered together. Sherlock kissed John with all that was left in him and John sighed into his mouth.  
“That was fantastic.” John said. Sherlock smiled.  
“I love feeling you in me. I love the way you look when you come.” Sherlock said as he stroked John’s face.  
“It can’t be as beautiful as your face. I could watch you all day, the way you look when you are almost at the end.”  
“I love you.” Sherlock said with tenderness. John smiled at Sherlock.  
“I love you too.”  
“Then if you love me so much, get the hell off me.” Sherlock said. He pushed John off and John rolled off the bed, laughing. He went into the bathroom, and Sherlock followed. The each showered quickly and climbed into bed, naked. John pulled Sherlock close to him, spooning him. John made lazy circles on Sherlock’s flat belly.  
“You are so sexy” Sherlock said lazily.  
“Excuse me?” John chuckled. “I have heard cute, powerful, handsome, but sexy was never one that I have heard before. When we get home we are going to have your eyes checked.”  
“No. My eyes are perfect, thank you very much. But it doesn’t change the fact that I find you very sexy.”  
“A short, older man who is retired from the service, bullet holes and scars. That really compared to the long, lean and handsome man that I am currently holding, sexy I am not.” John said. “Besides, it’s the mind and the heart that are the sexiest.”  
“That’s exactly my point. Besides, no one gets to see the layers of finely tuned muscle that those silly jumpers hide.” Sherlock said. His voice was growing wearier with sleep.  
“You think my jumpers are silly?” John asked in mock disgust. “They are not as silly as the man who stalks around the flat in a dressing gown and suits. Who wore a sheet to the palace.” Sherlock giggled. “Are you giggling?”  
“I think I might be.” Sherlock answered. He giggled more and John joined him. It ended a few moments later and they both fell silent.  
“I’m sorry I’ve been a right sod the last couple of days.” John said.  
“I’m always an arse. It was simply your turn.” John chuckled and he noticed that Sherlock’s breathing pattern had slowed. John closed his eyes, kissed the nape of Sherlock’s neck, pulled him closer and drifted off himself.  
John had traveled all over Europe and fought in a war. He had traveled with Mary for their honeymoon and had gained the nick name three continent Watson in the service. But jet lag had been something he never had to deal with. His eyes snapped open at five in the morning local time. He shifted in the bed, needing to use the loo. Sherlock was either a dead to the world sleeper or one who jumped up at the slightest noise. He was deep in sleep. He didn’t even move when John came back to bed. John pulled out his iPad and began reading through the back log of emails that he hadn’t seen in weeks. Most of them were sympathetic messages about Mary and Jane. He opened one scanned it and deleted it. He was comfortable and content with Sherlock by his side, so far away from the stuffiness of London. Sherlock rolled over on his side in his sleep.  
“Why are you awake?” he moaned. John chortled.  
“Did I wake you, love? I’m sorry.”  
“You didn’t.” Sherlock rolled onto his back and stretched out his long lean body. John watched as his stomach and chest came into view from under the sheets. “What time is it?” Sherlock asked with a yawn.  
“About six here.”  
“Bloody fucking early.” Sherlock said. He rolled on his side and nestled up against John. John put down his iPad on the side table and pulled Sherlock closer. Sherlock pressed his ear to John’s chest. John settled down in the bed and Sherlock sighed.  
“Let’s live here.” John said.  
“In a hotel, in New York?”  
“Yes and no.” John felt Sherlock’s eyebrow raise in question against his chest. “What I mean to say is here. In this bliss. In this moment.”  
“I wish that there was some way we could.” Sherlock answered.  
“Will you lock it away in your memory palace?” John asked.  
“John, everything I do with you is there.” John kissed the top of Sherlock’s head.  
“I guess we should get up and dressed. I am hungry.”  
“Sherlock is hungry?” Sherlock bit John’s nipple in response.  
“I guess you are rubbing off on me.” John sniggered and pushed Sherlock off of him. Sherlock crawled up the bed and kissed John.  
“If you keep kissing me, we will never get to eat.” John said. Sherlock kissed John again and the spell was broken by Sherlock’s phone ringing from his pants pocket on the floor. Sherlock groaned, got up and picked up the call.  
“Perfect timing.” Sherlock snarled. Sherlock ignored the number. “We need to take my number off of the website. Maybe we can get a ghost number or a service.”  
“Well, we should go eat.” John got up and pulled out clothes from his suit case. He dressed and Sherlock went into the bathroom to shave and clean his teeth. John traded places with him and they were ready to walk out the door in short order.  
“What would you like to do today?” Sherlock asked over eggs and toast in the hotel restaurant.  
“I don’t know. I think we should go to the cove first. Get it over with.”  
“Okay.” Sherlock said. He sat back and sipped his coffee. “When this is all over, we should go away on a proper holiday.”  
“And what is this?”  
“Part holiday, part case.”  
“True.” John watched Sherlock and reached his hand out for him. Sherlock leaned towards the table and held his hand.  
“But we should go somewhere that we don’t have to get out of bed the entire time.”  
“If we go to the cove this morning, we don’t have to get out of bed the rest of the time we are here.” John said. “How long are we staying?”  
“Our return flight is the day after tomorrow.”  
“Oh.” Sherlock motioned for the check and signed the bill. He kissed John’s hand and they left the table.  
John was used to the hustle and bustle of London, but New York was more populous and smaller. Sherlock walked down the street and turned a corner. John was amazed that their hotel was so close to Central Park.  
“You planned this, didn’t you?” John asked. Sherlock laughed.  
“There isn’t much in my life I don’t plan.” Sherlock said. “Except you. I didn’t plan you.” John smiled and walked in step with Sherlock. “It’s a good thing. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”  
“And you….” John faded off. He stuck his hands into his pockets and watched the ground as he walked.  
Sherlock stopped and sat on a bench along the path. John sat down next to him and put his elbows on his knees.  
“I’m sorry.” John said.  
“Don’t be. Neither one of us is innocent. I thought that when I came back I could handle being with you, but not being with you. And when I found out about Mary….. I stuffed my feelings away in a black box. I tried to be a good friend. I tried. But it hurt me to see you with Mary and I tried to convince myself that as long as you were happy….”  
John put his head in his hands. Sherlock continued. “I know that you love her. I know that you are dealing with things that I have had much more time to turn over in my mind. And I know that at times you are going to get sad. You are still grieving even if we are together. I hope that understand I’ll be as patient as I can.” John felt Sherlock’s hand on his arm.  
“I seem to be apologizing a lot lately. Especially to you.”  
“It’s fine John. Really it is.”  
“I know that you understand. I know that you love me and God help me I love you too. I can’t imagine why I waited so long. Why I didn’t see what was right in front of me. But I loved her too. She was there when you weren’t.” Sherlock’s arm came around his waist. “Listen to me… I’m being sentimental.”  
“Yes, you are. Let’s go. Let’s finish what we came here to do. Then I will take you for a knish and show you the town. After that, I do not plan to let you out of the bed until we have to go to the airport.” John smiled and turned. Sherlock was closer than he realized. John pressed his lips to Sherlock’s. Neither of them heard the camera shutter click.  
Wagner’s cove told them nothing. It was a private place but it was also popular. Too many people had come and gone since Mary had been there last. John felt nothing of his wife there and Sherlock became overwhelmed with the number of things he saw. Too many people had been there. He kissed John in the gazebo to be able to create a memory there.  
Sherlock took John to a street vendor and had him try a knish. John liked it and wondered if it was something he could find in London. They walked the streets, Sherlock showing his some of the sights. They had dinner in a small bistro in the village and took a cab back to the hotel.  
John plugged his phone in to charge and pulled off his clothes. Sherlock followed suit and Lay down on the top of the bed.  
“So two more nights….” John said as he lay down on the bed. The two lovers were close enough to touch but weren’t.  
“Yes. And a whole day in between.” Sherlock whispered low. “Is there anything else you want to see in New York?”  
“No. I only want to open that door for room service.” John said. He leaned his forehead against Sherlock’s and raised his hand to run through the soft curls. Sherlock leaned into John’s touch.  
Sherlock shifted and moved his mouth along John’s jaw and up to his lips. They kissed tenderly. The conversation of that morning hadn’t been forgotten and Sherlock knew that John was still raw with emotion. He wanted to make sure John felt save and loved.  
They spent the rest of their trip in bed. Mycroft’s car was waiting to take them back to the airport. John settled in with a book for the flight and Sherlock spent the time watching out the window. They arrived back in London with no further information, but a look of satisfaction and being sated on their faces. Until they reached baggage claim.


	16. Threats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone is threatening John and Sherlock.

CHAPTER 16- Threats

John and Sherlock made their way around to the belts that carried their suitcases from the tarmac to the waiting travelers. Sherlock was deep in thought and walking behind John. He bumped into John when he stopped.

“Something’s up.” John stated. Sherlock snapped his head up and looked in the same direction John was looking. Not only was Lestrade waiting for them, but he was standing next to Mycroft.

“Fuck.” Sherlock said. John swiveled his head around and looked at Sherlock. “Well, there goes the holiday.”

“I guess it was too good to be true to have one more night.” John said. He walked over to the two men who were waiting for them.

“Did you find anything in New York?” Mycroft asked, forgoing pleasantries.

“Nothing. Why? What happened?” John asked. Sherlock stared at both men.

“My man will get your bags. We need to talk.” Mycroft said. He led them out the airport and to a waiting car. They climbed in with Greg at the wheel. Mycroft sat in the front and John and Sherlock got into the back.

“What has happened?” Sherlock asked.

“Well, mate, it seems your little fact finding mission turned out to be a bit of a holiday than?” Greg said. 

“Are you upset?” John asked.

“Damn bloody right I am. You three go off vigilante style to save the world again? You have a man sitting in jail that might be innocent? And then…. And then….” Greg swore low and John flinched. He knew.

“Greg….” John started.

“Don’t Greg me.” Greg snarled. “You tried to tell me the night at the pub, didn’t you John?”

“Not consciously.” John admitted.

“How long?” Greg asked. “No wait… I don’t know that I want to know.”

“This trip, was not about that. At least not entirely. It was trying to figure out Mary’s code.” John said. Sherlock was silent. His face was blank.

“What Lestrade is neglecting to tell you is that the King has made a move.” Mycroft interrupted.

“What move?” Sherlock spoke for the first time. John realized they were pulling up to Baker Street. Mycroft handed Sherlock a file and Sherlock looked at it as John opened the door to the flat. The four men walked up the stairs and into the sitting room. John threw his coat on the sofa and went to the cupboard. He pulled down the bottle of scotch and four glasses. He handed glasses around and took the file from Sherlock’s hands. He sat down in his chair, drained his glass and opened the file.

Pictures of John and Sherlock in their embrace on the park bench in New York glared back at him. He sifted through them and shut the file. He threw it on the floor and got up to refill his glass.

“The pictures were sent to me last night.” Greg said. Sherlock stood at the window and looked out of it. “At first I thought they were doctored. Faked somehow. But Mr. Holmes called me within minutes. He had gotten the other half of the message.”

“Which was?” Sherlock asked. John stayed in the kitchen staring at the kitchen table he was leaning on.

“That the photos had been sent to Lestrade. They would go public in less than 4 days unless the drive was handed over.” Mycroft cleared his throat. “I called Lestrade.”

“We discussed the best course of action after I was filled in on every detail.”

“Which is?” John asked from the kitchen.

“We can buy some time if you two go public. It makes the pictures redundant.” John slammed his hand into the table and walked into Sherlock’s bedroom. Sherlock heard some noise and realized that John was pulling out the bag from the wardrobe. He came back into the living room with the three flash drives. He threw them at Mycroft.

“What are these?” Mycroft asked. 

“We found them in Mary’s go bag. I looked at them. One is photos. One is medical history. One is letters to Jane. But Mary was smart. Take them to whoever. Look under the surface.” John stated. Sherlock was surprised that John had looked at them. “Sod off Sherlock. You aren’t the only one who can sneak out of bed and fire up a lap top.”

“You knew?” Sherlock asked.

“I always know when you get up out of bed.” John said. Greg cleared his throat. He seemed a bit more uncomfortable with the tenderness between his friends.

“But you didn’t…. we went….. You think there is something else there?” Sherlock asked. 

“I’m not sure. But Mary was smart. Now, gentlemen, I am tired. I want a shower, my bed and to spend some time speaking with Sherlock about your plan. Please leave. We will meet you both for breakfast in the morning.” John walked to the door and held it open. Greg walked to the door and stopped.

“John, I’m not judging you. I hope you know that. But I have one question.” John looked at him giving him permission to proceed. “Are you happy?”

“Are you asking if I am being coerced? If I am suffering from some sort of Holmesian Stockholm Syndrome? I assure you Greg that I am happy being in a relationship with Sherlock. I am sorry that I didn’t tell you. But I wasn’t ready for that.”

“Good… Then…. Until tomorrow.” John noted the Mycroft was speaking low to his brother and John coughed loudly. Sherlock’s head popped up and Mycroft stopped speaking.

“Dr. Watson. I hope that you take this seriously. Several people could die for this information. Including yourself.”

“And why would that be any different from any other case we work?” John spit out. “Now, Mycroft, if you would be so kind, leave.” Mycroft looked offended and left the flat. The front door shut before Sherlock came over to John, placed his hands on either side of his face and kissed him deeply.

“I love you John Watson.” He said. John smiled and let his shoulders sag. Sherlock went into the kitchen and began to make tea. John came and sat on the stool to watch Sherlock.

“What was that?” he asked.

“You.”

“What?”

“I love the way you just took charge.” Sherlock stated.

“I wanted to talk to you.” John said. He took the cup of tea from Sherlock. “Ta.”

“But you seem like you want to tell me something.” Sherlock said sitting down on the stool across from John.

John rubbed his hands across his face. He looked up at Sherlock. “What were you and Mycroft whispering about?”

“He was trying to convince me to allow him to call a press conference. To deal with our relationship.”

“A press conference? So that we can stand there and tell the world we are sleeping together? Clinically and sterile?” John roared.

“John, please, I agree with you. That’s not the way to go about this if it is what we choose to do. I think Mycroft looks at the world with too much sterility.”

“Okay. So what do you think? This isn’t just about me.” John said. “This affects you too.”

“I don’t know what to think. I see it from all sides. Would allowing the world to see our relationship buy some time, maybe. Would it change the relationship we have right now? Most likely. It’s new to both of us and we need to make sure whatever we do is the best for us long term. Maybe doing things in little steps, well calculated steps would be the best.”

“Like what?” John asked. 

“Well, Lestrade knows. Mycroft knows. Mrs. Hudson seems to have seen it all before you and I did. But to let the rest of our friends in on it. Find ones that will talk. Spread the word. Then if the pictures are published, it’s really not a surprise. Redundant I think was the word.”

“But how…. And who….?” John asked. He stopped and stared at Sherlock. They both had a smile on their faces at the same time.

“Anderson.” They said together.

“It will be all over the internet before long.” John said.

“That stupid society he came up with… well at least it will be use full for something.”

“But when?” John asked. He stifled a yawn. Sherlock took his empty tea cup and put it in the sink. He took John’s hand and went up to the bedroom. He noticed that their bags were there and wondered when he missed Mycroft’s man bringing them in.

“Let me think on that. I want to plan it out without any mistakes.” 

“Fine by me. I’m knackered.” John yawned again. He undressed for bed and crawled beneath the duvet. Sherlock by the edge of the bed trying to decide to get in or not. 

“Would you be mad if I didn’t come to bed right now?” Sherlock looked pensive and John was sure that he wanted to stay up for a while and think.

“Only if you come kiss me goodnight.” John said. Sleep was quickly taking over his body. “And you had better come to bed at some point. I don’t want to wake up in the morning and find you haven’t been here.”

“Promise.” Sherlock said. He came around to John’s side of the bed and kissed him. John closed his eyes and Sherlock was sure that he was asleep before he reached the landing.

Sherlock was sitting in the bed, watching the wall in front of him when John awoke the next morning. 

“Good morning love.” John said. He reached out for the first part of Sherlock he could reach and rested his hand on his hip. Sherlock moved his gaze to John’s face and smiled.

“Good morning.” He leaned in for a kiss. “Did you sleep well?”

“Later on, yes. I assume that’s when you came to bed.”

“Yes.”

“Did you sleep?” John asked. He was concerned that Sherlock wasn’t sleeping again, a frequent occurrence during cases.

“I did.”

“How long?”

“About four hours.” John rolled to look at the clock. It was nine.

“What time are we meeting Greg and Mycroft?” John asked.

“In about an hour.”

“Good, than we have time for….. “ John didn’t say a word and moved his hand towards Sherlock’s crotch. Sherlock stopped his movement.

“John, as much as I would love to, I can’t at the moment. I’m still trying to think this out. And I want to… lord knows I do. I just want to stay clear for a while. Do you understand?”

“I do, love, I do. But, looking at you in my bed first thing in the morning. You can’t blame a guy for trying?” John looked at Sherlock who smiled and soften his gaze.

“No. I thought about waking you up several times, myself. But, we have other things to contend with at the moment.”

“Shower. I’ll make some tea. Then while I shower, you can tell me about your plans.”

“Deal.” Sherlock and John moved around the bathroom together as if they always showered and cleaned up together. Although this was the first time in their own flat, they had a natural rhythm between them.

“So, after thinking long into the night and more this morning I have come up with the following three ideas. It is just a matter of letting someone else see if there are any flaws in my plans. I am always missing something.”

“Okay. So tell me. I’ll have a chance to think about it on the ride to breakfast.” John said.

“First, we start going out in public together. Get Lestrade to give us a few boring cases. We show up holding hands, soft touches, longing looks. You or I could slip and call each other by some endearment.”

“Sure sweetheart.” John said. Sherlock made a face.

“Maybe not that one. Then everyone will get the idea and we can be tender instead of rough about it.”

“Okay. That’s a possibility. As long as Anderson and Donovan are there.”

“There is plan two, were you and I go out to the pub with the Yard one evening and as the more we drink, the more and more physical we get.”

“Not really liking that one. Put that on the back burner.”

“And the third. You go out with the Yard. I text you and you leave your phone out for all to see. WE have a row. I come to the pub. We have a domestic in front of our friends.”

“That might be the best. It’s more natural to us. I can play up the grieving husband bit a while longer.”

“Wrestling with guilt an all….” John looked at Sherlock. Sherlock was watching his hands. 

John grabbed his jacket and put it on. Sherlock put on his coat and they headed into Mycroft’s car.

“There is one more possibility.”

“What is that?” Sherlock asked. He was sure that he had thought them all out.

“We do nothing. We don’t change a thing. We don’t hide our relationship, but we also do not flaunt it. We act as if we were any other couple in the beginnings of a relationship.”

“Hmmm.” Sherlock said. “That’s…. That…. It might be damn near perfect.” He reached around and grabbed John by the nape of the neck and pulled him in for a kiss. John smiled and rested his head on Sherlock’s shoulder.

“It would be the most natural. We can still row. We can still ask Lestrade for a few cases. We can still go out to the pub. We can call it a compromise to adjustments to spending time together and fitting in each other’s interest. We could go someplace to do something you would love.”

“And that is the plan we will be presenting today.” Sherlock said. “One million and one reasons I love you.”

“You thought of most of it.”

“John, you don’t see it do you?” Sherlock asked.

“See what?”

“That you are one of the smartest men I know. You are brilliant. Handsome, sexy as hell and so much more.”

“Sherlock, you’ve gone around the bend.”

“I have…. Maybe I have.”

“You are the smart one. You are so much smarter than me. You are a bloody genius.”

“I’m not. You are as smart. We are equals, John. Partners in many way. And if you wanted to measure things in the traditional sense, you are the one who not only finished university, you are the one who went on to medical school.”

“You could have finished uni.”

“Not really.” They had arrived at the hotel that they were meeting Mycroft and Lestrade at. John grabbed Sherlock’s hand when they got out of the cab. Sherlock smiled. “I was bored in school. I didn’t have it in me to sit through the rest of the classes. I lacked discipline.”

John walked with Sherlock into the dining room. “That I can understand. You never follow anything through.”

“Now, wait.” Sherlock stated as he sat down at the table with Mycroft and Lestrade. “I follow through on quite a bit.”

“When it is your interest.” Greg cleared his throat.

“When the two of you are finished with your domestic, can we get down to business.” Greg looked uncomfortable and John noticed a worried look to Mycroft’s eyes.


	17. Hiding No More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the threats, John and Sherlock make sure that everyone in their lives know....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This is going better than I could have ever hoped. Please, please, please, as this is my first 'published' piece, I could use some feed back. Comments are appreciated! Thanks for reading.

CHAPTER 17 – Hiding No More

“Sorry.” John said. He chuckled. Sherlock smirked.  
“I’m getting you a tee shirt with that on it. That’s your new favorite word.”   
“Fuck you.” John said. He poured himself a cup of coffee and laughed. Greg and Mycroft seemed to relax a bit.  
“So, what have you two discussed than?” Mycroft asked.  
“First, I need to apologize to the two of you.” John said. Sherlock sniggered into his coffee. “I seem to be doing that a lot lately. Shooting off at the mouth and acting like a right git.”  
“It’s fine.” Greg said.  
“Sherlock came up with a plan…” John said.  
“And John perfected it.” Sherlock finished. John put his arm on the table and Sherlock grabbed his hand. He ran his thumb in small circles on the back of his hand.  
“Greg, we need your help.” John said.  
“Whatever you need.”  
“We need a few cases. Nothing special. Just a few to be out in the fray again.”  
“And what is the plan?” Mycroft asked.  
“To stop hiding. To just let us be us. To act like we were when we came in here. Having a row. Simple touches. Looks.” Sherlock said. Greg looked to John and he nodded.  
“God help me, but I love him. I have for some time.” John said. Greg clung to the coffee cup in his hand for dear life. “And I know that he loves me. But our relationship, such as it is, is still new. We are still learning how to navigate this. So, this is what we decided to do.”  
“And how do you plan on getting the word around?” Mycroft asked.  
“Anderson and Donovan.” Greg answered.  
“Exactly.” Sherlock answered.   
“I…. I…..” Greg stammered. “It’s brilliant.”  
“Thank you.” Sherlock said. “But it really was John’s idea.”  
“Sherlock…” John warned.  
“No, it’s perfect.” Greg said as he considered all the options. “Simplistic. Perfect.”  
“That’s what I thought too.” Sherlock said. “Now, as for the rest, have you come up with anything yet, Mycroft?”  
“The drives?” he asked. Sherlock nodded and John ordered for him and Sherlock.   
“Mainly found what was on the surface. But there was something on the drive with the letters.” Mycroft said. “It’s buried deep. We might have a better idea in a few hours.” John noticed that the older Holmes brother didn’t look like he had slept at all.  
“Mycroft, have you been up all night?” John asked. Mycroft skirted the question with a cup of coffee. “You need to sleep. Go home. Sleep. Nothing is going to change right now. There is nothing to be so concerned about that a few hours of sleep is going to hinder.”  
“John is right.” Sherlock said. They sat and ate in silence for a few minutes. Mycroft pushed his food around and sighed.   
“I think you are right.” He finally said. Mycroft stood up from the table and smoothed his waist coat. “I am going home. I’ll let you know when I have something more to report.” He left the restaurant. Greg let out a held breath.  
“That man scares me.” He said. Sherlock began to laugh.  
“I think that’s his plan.” John said. Greg laughed as his phone began to trill. He picked it up and spoke for a moment. Sherlock took a piece of fruit from John’s plate and John sat back with his coffee.  
“Well, boys, I think that the plan is in action. We have a case.” He said. Sherlock paid the bill and they went out to Lestrade’s car.

 

The case turned into a body washing up on the shore of the Thames. Sherlock and John walked with Lestrade onto the crime scene. Donovan and Anderson were there already. Anderson bristled at the sight of Sherlock and John leaned into Sherlock.  
“Show time.” He said. He ran his hand down Sherlock’s arm and let him go onto the body.  
“Out with Lestrade this morning?” Donovan asked in John’s ear.  
“Yeah. He wanted to hear about our trip to the states.” John said. He watched Sherlock look over the body.  
“States?”  
“Yeah, Sherlock and I took a short holiday. He thought New York would be fun.”   
“You went on holiday with… him?” she asked. John couldn’t tell if she was sickened by the idea or appalled. He didn’t care either way.  
“Yes. We had a lovely time.” Sherlock stood up and called for John.  
“John, you want to come and have a look?” he asked. John nodded his head and twisted his face with a smile. He raised his eyebrows at Sherlock who replied with a smile of his own and a raised eyebrow. John examined the body and stood up.  
“Anderson?” Sherlock called. John leaned against Sherlock as he scanned his phone for something.  
“Yes?” he answered coming over to the body.  
“Make sure that Molly gets this one. Been in the water… what do you think love?” Sherlock asked. John looked up.  
“About a week.” John said. He held up his phone. “Harold Greene. Been missing about six days.” John had found the missing person’s report online.  
“He’s turning into the freak.” Donovan said under her breath.  
“Nope. Just learning to think differently.” John answered. Anderson was standing with his mouth open. “And due shut your mouth Anderson. It’s not pretty to look at.” Donovan looked at Anderson. He shut his jaw with a click.  
“What did he just call you?” Anderson asked. Sherlock turned so the diminutive forensic agent didn’t see his smile.  
“Who?” John asked, appearing confused.  
“Sherlock. Did he just call you….. love?” Donovan realized that she had heard it too and her mouth fell open.  
“I believe he did. Sherlock, we need to tell Lestrade what we have found. Then I think we need to stop in to see Molly. But we need to run home first. I think I left the gift we bought her in New York in your suitcase.” Sherlock nodded and put his arm around John’s waist as they walked towards the Detective Inspector.  
Molly had an office and she rarely used it. She enjoyed spending time in the lab and that is where Sherlock and John found her an hour after they left the crime scene.

 

“Hello Molly.” John said. He had a coffee in his hand and a small bag from a New York souvenir shop in his other. Sherlock had a coffee in each.  
“John! Sherlock.” She said. “I wasn’t sure that I…. I didn’t know that both of you…” she blew out a breath. Sherlock handed her the coffee he had in his hand for her and leaned over to her cheek.  
“I assume you have heard then?” John offered. She nodded. He handed her the bag and she unwrapped the layers of paper to find a snow globe of New York City.  
“It’s not much…” Sherlock started.  
“It’s brilliant.” She said. “Cheers.”  
“I’m sorry again Molly.” John said. Sherlock chuckled and John elbowed him in the ribs. “Shut it.”  
“So, it’s true.” She said. John gave her a soft smile.  
“It depends. What have the gossip whores been saying?” Molly took a sip of her coffee and it was perfect. Coffee and tea to her liking. Sherlock was full of surprises.   
“I heard, well, that you…. That you and Sherlock….”  
“We are…. What’s the proper word here John?” Sherlock asked. John looked panicked.   
“You know in all our time, and in all our conversations, we never did discuss this. We never defined it in conventional terms.” John sat down on one of the stools and Molly sat down across from him.  
“Look, I got the body. It’s just like you said. So, we can dispense with that. I have a feeling there is something more going on here.” Molly was not dumb and she was far more observant than most people gave her credit for.  
“So, I came to apologize for being a prat. And to give you your gift. And to see if…” John stopped talking. Sherlock put his hand on his arm.  
“To see if we could take you and your new boyfriend to dinner tonight.” Sherlock finished.  
“Dinner?” she asked.  
“Yes. Say seven?” Sherlock answered.  
“Okay, sure… let me make sure that Rob isn’t working. He’s a doctor too.” John nodded.  
“So, then, text me later and let me know.” John said. “Even if he can’t join us, we would still like to take you.”  
“Why?” Molly asked. John was caught short.  
“Why dinner?” Molly nodded her head. Sherlock pressed harder on John’s arm. He wanted to answer for them.  
“Molly, we consider you a friend. A dear friend. We want to spend time with you and to thank you.”  
“Thank me?”   
“For everything, every little thing you have done for us over the years. “  
“Why now?” Sherlock shrugged.  
“Why not?” Molly narrowed her eyes.  
“I’ll text you later.” She said. John kissed her cheek and Sherlock followed suit. Molly sat heavily on her seat, making it snow in New York and absently drinking her latte.

 

“One last person.” John said as they climbed into the cab.  
“Let me go in first.” Sherlock said as he threaded his hand through John’s “You go up and get her gift.”  
“Fine with me. But I would like to spend a little time alone with her.” John answered.  
“That’s good. I’ll leave shortly after you come down. I need to see if Mycroft sent anything yet.”  
“Good. Put the kettle on when you go up, would you?” Sherlock raised John’s hand to his lips and kissed the palm.  
“Anything.” John smiled.  
They climbed out of the cab and walked into the house. Sherlock went to Mrs. Hudson’s flat and knocked. She hollered for him to enter and he found her sitting in her sitting room.  
“Sherlock!” she exclaimed. “Are you alone?”  
“For the moment. John will be following directly.”  
“Good. I want to talk to you both.” She said. Sherlock took a seat on her over stuffed floral sofa.   
“About what?” Sherlock asked.  
“About the fact that even though the two of you have moved upstairs, you are about as quiet as a pair of newlyweds. Sherlock, what you do is your own business, but please, for my sake, keep the volume down some.”  
Sherlock’s cheeks reddened and he ducked his head. John came into the room and Mrs. Hudson turned very icy at John.  
“Mrs. Hudson, I…. “John stammered. He held out the bag that contained the simple silver broach that they had bought her at Tiffany’s. She clapped her hands at the bag and smiled.  
“Oh, John. All is forgiven.” Sherlock smiled and rose.   
“I’ll leave you two then?” he said. “I’ll make tea and see you in a few minutes.” He put his hand on John’s shoulder and gave him a kiss. Mrs. Hudson made a pleasant noise and Sherlock smiled at her as he left the room.  
“I really am sorry, Mrs. Hudson.” John said. “I was upset and angry and well…”  
“An arse.” She finished. John chuckled a bit and nodded.  
“An arse.”  
“But, you and Sherlock. I told you.”   
“Yes, Mrs. Hudson, yes.” John smiled. “You were right.”

 

Mrs. Hudson kissed John on the cheek and waved him off to go with Sherlock. John climbed up to the flat and Sherlock was pouring the water into the pot. John came behind Sherlock and grabbed him around the waist. Sherlock stopped pouring and let John hold him for a moment.  
“Go well then?” he asked.  
“Yes. What was she saying to you when I came in?” Sherlock stiffened in John’s arms.  
“Well, it seems that even with her herbal soothers, we are waking her at night.” John put his face in Sherlock’s back.  
“Fuck.”   
“Yes.”  
“Well, that’s that then.” John’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He let go of Sherlock and pulled it out. It was Molly.  
“We will both be free tonight. Where?-MH”  
“Molly and her beau can join us tonight. Seven at Angelo’s right?” John asked. Sherlock nodded. He poured teas into cups and added milk.  
“Seven at Angelo’s. Glad you both are coming.-JW  
Sherlock settled into the sofa with his laptop and pulled up the case file from Mycroft. John sat next to him and leaned against his side. John reached his hand up and played with the raven curls at the nape of his neck as they both read the information on the screen.  
“It seems he found it.” John said. Names, dates, locations, various agencies, more names, repeated over and over again.  
“So it seems.”  
“So how do we contact this king?” John asked.  
“I don’t know.”  
“There one other problem.”  
“The flash drive.”  
“Exactly. They are looking for the gold one. We don’t have it.”  
Sherlock sighed. There was still something nagging him in the back of his head. “ I know.”  
“So , now what?” John asked. Sherlock closed the laptop and shifted so his head was in John’s lap. John pushed the curls off of Sherlock’s forehead.  
“I need to take the stiches out.” John said. John moved and Sherlock lifted his head to allow him up. John returned with scissors and gauze, a pair of pickups and some sterile saline. John busied himself with Sherlock’s eye. “It’s a good thing you are dating a doctor.”  
“Dating?” Sherlock asked. He flinched a bit as John pulled on a stitch.  
“Dating. I guess that’s what it is.”  
“And why is it a good thing?”  
“Because, you alone would bankrupt the national health.” Sherlock laughed and flinched again as John pulled out a stitch. “Hold still.” He scolded. Sherlock took in a deep breath as John pulled out the last one and set in to clean out the wound.  
“It scared?” Sherlock asked.  
“Yes, but it adds a bit of mystery to that handsome face.” John said. He leaned down to kiss Sherlock. Sherlock grabbed John’s face and pulled him closer.  
“We have a few hours until we have to meet Molly.” He said. John smiled and laughed against Sherlock’s lips.  
“We do. You are like a ruddy teenager.” Sherlock smiled.  
“I’m admittedly addicted. But that’s your fault you know.”  
“Mine?” John scoffed.  
“Yes, you showed me what sex with love is like.” John laughed.  
“I guess I did.” He said tenderly.

 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
John and Sherlock were sitting next to each other, closer than normal at the table when Molly and Rob arrived. They were talking to each other low and close and Molly stopped as she saw them. She tilted her head and smiled.  
“Molly?” Rob asked at her side. He was a bit taller than John and had a messy modern head of ginger hair that stood up in all directions. He was freckled and slender. John noticed Molly watching them and nudged Sherlock. They both stood as they reached the table. John leaned out to kiss Molly hello. Sherlock shook Rob’s hand.  
“John, Sherlock, this is Rob.” Molly said. John shook his hand and Sherlock came around the table to hug and kiss Molly. A genuine hug. She blushed a bit and they took their seats.  
“I’m impressed John.” Molly said. Sherlock picked up the bottle of wine at his side and poured two more glasses.  
“With what?” John asked.  
“The changes in Sherlock.” She said. John knitted his brow and looked at her. “It’s nothing that anyone who really didn’t know him wouldn’t notice. On the outside he’s still a bastard. But there are little things that were always there. And now, he’s bringing them to the forefront.”  
“I am sitting here, dear.” Sherlock said with a smile.  
“I’m sorry Sherlock.” Molly said. “But right there was an example. You never call me dear.”  
“Is that wrong?” Sherlock said, turning to John. John stroked his face and shook his head.   
“It’s not wrong. I’m the only one used to seeing this in you.” Molly awed at them and John put his hand on the table. Sherlock put his hand on John’s.  
“So, Rob, Molly said that you are a doctor too.” John said, trying to change the conversation. Rob and John were sitting next to each other and Molly had sat next to Sherlock. Rob and John began to talk medicine and compare cases from their vast stores of patients.  
“You look happy.” Sherlock said to Molly. She looked in his eyes.  
“You do too.” She said with a smile. “Are you?”  
“I am. I think John is too. Is this weird for you?” Sherlock asked, with concern in his voice.  
“It is. But not in the way you think. I see that you really care for each other. But I’m worried about John. He’s still grieving for Mary and Jane. And I’m having a bit of a moment too.”  
“I know he is. But in some ways, he’s not. There is a lot more to their relationship than you could ever know.”  
“All relationships have that.”  
“And what is your moment?” Sherlock asked. He noted a bit of sadness come over her face.  
“I really am happy for you and John. I want you to understand that.” Sherlock nodded. Rob and John laughed loudly and Molly took a drink of her wine. “I’m mourning us.”  
“Us?”  
“Well, in a way. I always liked you. I thought I loved you. I do still love you, but in a different way.” Molly admitted.  
“I know.” Sherlock said. He smiled a smile that reached his eyes and Molly smiled back.  
“I know.” She sighed and turned to her wine. Sherlock leaned over and kissed her.  
“What was that for?” she asked.   
“For loving me when I didn’t deserve it. For being you.” Molly blushed and Rob cleared his throat.  
“You two do know that John and I are here?” he said. Sherlock chuckled and Molly smiled. John squeezed Sherlock’s hand and Sherlock squeezed back.   
“I am very well aware.” Molly said. She leaned over and kissed Rob. John smiled.  
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

Dinner was a pleasant affair. Molly got over her initial shock and it seemed as if the two couples had been couples for years. John and Sherlock walked hand in hand back to the flat.  
“So, I guess that’s everyone.” Sherlock said. John shook his head.  
“Not quite. Two more to go.” He answered.  
“Who is left?” Sherlock tried to remember who they had seen since they were back from New York.  
“Mike and Harry.”   
“Mike. Harry.” Sherlock measured each name on his tongue. John’s friend from school and John’s sister. Mike was the person that introduced Sherlock and John. They had each known him independently and he was the one that showed them that a flat share was possible.  
Harry was John’s older sister. Harry and John were not the closest, however, since John had married Mary, she was kinder. But she was also a drunk. A divorced lesbian, she was going to be the most difficult to tell.  
“I can ring up Mike and take him out for a pint. It’ll be easier to tell him by myself.” Sherlock nodded.   
“I like Mike. He’s a good guy. But I think in some way I intimidate him.” Sherlock said. John nodded.  
“And impress. He loves watching someone else be scrutinized by the great Sherlock Holmes, but doesn’t want to sit too close to you. He’s afraid that you will turn on him and his secrets will be revealed.”  
“I wouldn’t do that.” Sherlock paused. “Intentionally.” They climbed the steps to their flat and settled in to the sofa.   
“Harry is going to be harder.” John mused. He chewed his bottom lip and Sherlock put his arm around his shoulder. He pulled him in close.  
“Did she call after the funeral?” Sherlock asked. He was sure that he knew the answer and he held his breath while John shook his head.  
“She sent me a text.”  
“A text?” Sherlock asked gently. He knew that Harry was a tender point with John.  
“Yeah.” John shook his head. “I have been meaning to go see her…..” John got lost in his own head for a moment.  
“Okay.”  
“She’s most likely still out.” John said. It was more to himself than to Sherlock. He picked up his keys and after a quick kiss goodbye, left Sherlock sitting on the sofa.

 

Harry was very similar to John in size and color but that was all. Other than the DNA they shared, there was nothing that made them alike. Harry had her hair pulled up in the back of her head in a sloppy way and she was sitting on the stool at the pub. Her makeup was tired and her face was older than she was. John saw a lot of his father sitting there staring at him. Harry rubbed her eyes with her finger tips.  
“Shite. What did I do now?” Harry asked as John sat down next to her. He was still slightly buzzing from the wine at dinner and he didn’t want to lose it quite yet. He motioned for the bartender to give him a pint and for another of whatever Harry was drinking. He put his money on the bar and took a long pull from the glass.  
“Nothing.” John said finally. Harry sat and looked at him in awe. She picked up her whiskey and downed in one go. “Did you love Clara?” he asked.   
“I did. I still do. But I’m no good.” Harry said. She was just beginning her evening. John could tell from the clarity in her voice and the lack of shakes in her movements.  
“Harry.” He said. It was a prayer. “I love you. You are my sister. But, I hate seeing you like this.”   
“I know Johnny. I love you too.”  
“Then let me help you.” He said. “I swear….”  
“What Johnny? Going to come in and save the day?”  
“No.” John said in a whisper.  
“Well, than, you have a reason for being here.”  
“I wanted to tell you something. To share something with you. But when I came into this pub and I saw you, I realized that I will ask you once more. Only once more to let me help you. After that, I will share what I wanted to tell you. But it will be the last time you and I see each other.”  
“Are you mad that I didn’t come to the funeral?” she asked. John shook his head.  
“I was a wreck. I don’t know that I would have noticed if you were there.” John sighed.  
“I know you want to help me John. Maybe one day I will want help. But right now….”  
“Okay. So, I will sit here, tell you what I came here to tell you and I will be gone. I will never darken your door again.”  
“So, out with it then.”  
“I…. I…..” Harry put her hand on John’s arm. He wanted to feel compassion and love for his sister, but all he felt was revulsion. “I am dating someone.”  
“Dating?! So soon?”  
“Well, we were in love long before I met Mary. And through some events we were separated for a while. Then I met Mary and well…. Before I knew it we were together.”  
“And why are you telling me this?” she asked. John asked himself that same question.   
“I wanted to be the one to tell you. You might see it in the papers or something.”  
“Who is it Johnny?” she asked motioning for another drink.  
“Sherlock.”  
“Sherlock? That crazy one you lived with?” Harry laughed. They had only met once, but she didn’t like him.  
“Yes.”  
“But, John, you’re not gay.”  
“How did you know you were?” John asked. He was curious.  
“I just did. Deep down. Do you feel it there John?”  
“I just feel love for Sherlock.” He said. “I don’t think I’m gay.”  
“You aren’t. You are in love with someone who just happens to be a man. Just be careful Johnny.”  
“I will. You too.” John turned and kissed his sister on her cheek and left her alone at the pub.


	18. Newspapers, Fish Wrappers, Ragsheets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets hurt. The threat comes to reality.

CHAPTER 18- Newspapers, Fish wrappers, Rag sheets

John and Sherlock’s decision to go on living their lives was liberating in ways. Lestrade was as good as his word, throwing them case after case for three days straight. Sherlock had deduced that the killer of a lovely little blonde woman was still in the area and no sooner had said it when a crazed brother in law jumped out from the wardrobe and Sherlock caught the brunt of a knife in the side. John knocked the knifer out with one blow and ran to Sherlock’s side. 

All their practice in undressing each other, made it easier for John to rip up Sherlock’s shirt and murmur words of love and comfort in public. Anderson stood with his mouth hanging open, the knife in one hand and an evidence bag in another.

“Sherlock, listen, this might hurt, love, but I need to look at it.” John said. 

“Bloody well get on with it then.” Sherlock snapped. “What are you staring at Anderson?”

“Nnnn…..nothing.” he stammered. John tentatively touched the sides of the wound and tried to clear away the blood some.

“Shite, Sherlock… is he okay?” Lestrade asked John. John held Sherlock’s hand.

“I think so. He’s going to need to be stitched up. Help me get him home.” Lestrade nodded and they put Sherlock and John in the back of a car and ran them home. John cleared off the kitchen table and told Sherlock to lie down. Sherlock winced as he lay down on the table. John spat directions at Lestrade to grab his medical bag from the sitting room as he gathered other things from the bath.

“I swear, one day I am going to open a druggist with all the medical supplies, medications and nicotine patches I have liberated from the surgery over the years.” John muttered under his breath as he washed up in the sink.

Sherlock moaned a bit on the table. “I could go for a cigarette now.” He said. John chuckled.

“When we are done love.” He said. Lestrade shuddered.

“I can’t believe I am standing in your kitchen, you are about to stitch this git up and you are tossing around terms of endearment like nothing.” Sherlock tried to laugh, but it turned into a yelp of pain. The knife caught him deeper into the side than he thought. John pulled on his gloves and began injecting Sherlock with a numbing agent. Sherlock bit his lip with his teeth. 

Lestrade was no stranger to blood and gore, sat down heavily on the stool.

“Breathe.” John said to both men as he readied his supplies and waited for Sherlock to get numb.

“How many times have you had to do this?” Lestrade asked. He wasn’t sure that John and Sherlock hid a lot of injuries from him, but this by far had to be the worst. John pondered the question as he irrigated the wound.

“More than I care to actually admit.” John said. “Sherlock is good at not telling me he is hurt until after several hours.”

“Blimey.” Lestrade muttered.

“Less talk. More sewing.” Sherlock said.

“This happens to be the worst, I think.” John said. He had begun knitting the delicate tissue on Sherlock’s left side back together.  
“I think Anderson nearly had a heart attack while you were checking Sherlock out at the scene.” Lestrade said. John pinched his face as not to laugh and Sherlock was numb. He began to chuckle some.

“I wish I could have taken the whole scene in.” Sherlock said. “Ow!” he yelped.

“Then lay still and be quiet.” John stated. “Sorry, love.”

“It’s fine.” Sherlock said. “But to be honest, as much as I do like not sneaking around, the best benefit about being out with our friends is seeing Anderson and Donovan’s faces when we are affectionate with each other.”

“It is quite funny.” Lestrade agreed.

“As long as you don’t get too carried away.” John muttered. He cut the silk of the stitches and put a dressing over it.

“Keep it dry. I’ll look at in the morning.” He said. “Do you want something for the pain?” Sherlock shook his head.

“Cigarette.” John nodded and took out the pack he kept hidden from Sherlock. Sherlock gingerly sat up on the table and Lestrade took out a cigarette as well. John cleaned up the mess and slumped against the counter.

“So, how is the pain?” John asked Sherlock. Sherlock gently got off the table and took a bit of a walk around the kitchen.

“It hurts.” He said. John nodded. He looked at his watch. There was no reason not to give Sherlock something stronger than conventional pain medication and allow him to sleep the sleep of the dead. It was late enough. John nodded his head and rummaged in his bag for a bottle. He poured out a tablet and Sherlock swallowed it dry.

“Greg, we are out of commission for the next….. three days.” John said. Sherlock pouted and Lestrade nodded with a pinched mouth of frustration.

“The dead line is tomorrow.” Lestrade said. 

“I know.” John answered. He took a deep breath and walked Lestrade to the landing.

“Whatever happens, we will deal with it.” John said. Lestrade bobbed his head in agreement.

“Do you need anything?” Lestrade asked before he left.

“Ta, no. Sherlock will be passing out soon. I’m going to take a hot shower and get some sleep myself. I think tomorrow will be a busy day.” Lestrade waved and went down to the street. John waited a moment before he turned and went back to the kitchen, watching Sherlock try to stretch for the tea pot.

“I’ll make it.” John said. Sherlock let John take the pot from his hands and he leaned back against the counter.

“How long until I pass out from the pain killers?” Sherlock asked.

“About twenty minutes.” John answered. Sherlock nodded and John pulled out some left over take away. They nibbled on odds and ends until Sherlock almost fell asleep in the Pad Thai.

“Alright. That’s enough. Let’s go to bed.” John said. Sherlock looked up his eyes very sleepy.

“Not tired.” He tried to say. John laughed and pulled him up. He gently assisted him up the stairs and dumped him on the bed.  
John helped undress Sherlock and pulled the duvet up over him. He sat on the edge of the bed and stroked his hair. Sherlock moaned a bit in his sleep and John smiled. He leaned down, kissed him and went back downstairs to finish cleaning up.

John was turning out the lights when he heard his own phone buzz with a text alert. He pulled it out and shook his head.

“How bad is the injury?-MH”

“It will heal with a bit of time. –JW”

“I have spoken to CIA, MI-6, Mossed and a few other agencies. They are aware of the data and we are currently in the process of altering our case files here. In case there is another copy.-MH”

“Minor position my giddy aunt. –JW”

“Just take care of my brother. –MH”

“Is that caring I feel from you text?-JW”

“Caring is not an advantage.-MH”

“SO you keep saying. But I know that you care.-JW”

“I never said I didn’t. I just said it is not an advantage.-MH”

“Good night Mycroft. I am not having a discussion in semantics with you via text message.-JW”

“Good night. Thank you for loving him-MH” John was shocked by Mycroft. He never said things like this. 

John readied himself for bed and gently eased into the warm space next to Sherlock. He wanted to be careful that he didn’t hurt his boyfriend who was peacefully sleeping. Sherlock shifted when John settled in, coming closer to Sherlock. John smiled and rolled onto his side, allowing Sherlock to drape his arm around John’s waist. John tried to turn the worry in his brain off about the next morning’s papers, but it took some time. He half wished he had taken one of Molly’s lovely little tablets. But he wanted to be alert enough if Sherlock needed him he could hear him.

John needn’t have worried. Sherlock slept the night through and only remembered his pain when he to stretch after waking in the morning. It was the yelp of pain that woke John.

“What… Sherlock? Are you alright?” he asked, quickly rolling over to search Sherlock for signs of injury.

“I’m fine. I forgot about the wound. I over stretched. I’m fine.” He reassured John. He kissed John on the mouth and nearly jumped out of bed. He was well rested, in a good mood – possibly after effects of the pain medication- and ready to face the day. John had slept some and was not as chipper. He knew what could be in the papers and was worried.

“Today’s the day.” Sherlock said as he almost ran down the stairs to collect the papers. John got up and after using the bathroom, he started on coffee. Tea wasn’t going to be enough for the day. Sherlock put the papers they subscribed to on the kitchen table.  
“Front page.” Sherlock said when John glanced over his shoulder. Sherlock was almost beaming.

John picked up the top paper. It was known as a gossip rag, but still in bold print was the headline he thought would be there.  
“Hat Detective and Side Kick Doctor Lovers”

John scanned the accompanying article and picture. It was one from New York. John read part of the article aloud as Sherlock made them both toast.

“Famous Formerly Dead Detective Sherlock Holmes recently took Dr. John Watson, recent widower on a lovers holiday to New York. Close friends were unreachable for comment. But a source close to both of them said, “I knew it all along. They have been lovers for years. It wasn’t until Mary Watson’s death, that they felt they needed to rub everyone’s nose in it.” John sighed and closed the papers.

“Anderson.” Sherlock said as he bit into his toast and jam.

“I was betting on Donovan. I’m sure that Anderson said something that couldn’t be printed.” John said.

“Ten quid.”

“Deal. Call Lestrade. Or Mycroft. They’ll know.” Sherlock found his phone and texted his brother.

“Who was the quote from?- SH”

“Feeling better?-MH”

“I’m fine. ‘Tis a flesh wound.-SH”

“I never did understand your fascination with Monty Python.-MH”

“So, who was it?-SH”

“Sargent Donovan-MH”

“Shite.” Sherlock spit out. John smiled and held out his hand. “I can think of other ways to pay you off.” Sherlock said with a devilish gleam in his eye.

“Nope.” John said. “No bedroom activities for at least seven days.” John said. “You’ll rip out all my fine knitting.”

“You can’t be serious!” Sherlock exclaimed. “Surely there are other things….”

“I think I created a monster.” John chuckled. Sherlock pouted. 

After they ate, they decided to dress, sit in the sitting room and read the papers. More time passed and they found that their sitting room became a social hall. Molly and her beau Rob came by to offer their support. Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson came up to see what they could do. John found that their friends were like a balm for Sherlock and distracted him long enough to forget his pain and his boredom. 

“Sherlock, you look like you hurt” Mrs. Hudson said.

“I do a bit.” Sherlock admitted. John shot him a look and he shook his head. John smiled at his attempt to elicite sympathy. “My doctor says that I need to rest and not do anything.”

“So how do you plan on keeping him occupied?” Molly asked.

“I have no idea.” John laughed. “I’m used to keeping him out of trouble.”

“I’m sure.” Lestrade chuckled.

“Could Sherlock come to work with me?” Molly asked.

“Work?!” Sherlock scoffed.

“Yes, Sherlock. Most of us work for a living. “ John said. He sat on the arm of Sherlock’s chair and put his hand on the nape of Sherlock’s neck. He found his hand tangled in the curls very quickly. John thought it was not only going to be a long week for Sherlock, but for himself as well.

“I have a few bodies that have recently come in. I thought that Sherlock could see what he was interested in…. experimenting on and maybe even try his hand at taking it out.” Molly explained. She knew that John would need the break from Sherlock before long and John sent her a look of gratitude.

“I’ll think about it.” Sherlock scoffed.

“I’m going to go.” Lestrade said. Molly and Rob took their leave with him. Mrs. Hudson flitted around the flat, trying to find something to do.

“What is it Mrs. Hudson? You obviously have a bee in your bonnet.” Sherlock said. John shot him a look to warn him, but Mrs. Hudson didn’t seem to notice the tone.

“I’m afraid for the two of you.” She said.

“Afraid? For us? God, why?” John asked. He sat Mrs. Hudson down in his chair and sat on the arm of Sherlock’s where he was sitting.

“It’s those papers.” She fretted.

“Those?” John said nodding to the stack of papers on the table.

“Yes. They say the worst things about you.” She said.

“But, surely you understand that all of it is not true.” Sherlock said. His tone was sweet and kind.

“I do. But not everyone thinks like we do.” Mrs. Hudson said. “But I worry so.”

“Stop it.” John said. Mrs. Hudson looked up to John. “What do you see here?” 

Sherlock and John were sitting quite close together. They were in love. It was clear.

“I see John and Sherlock. My tenants and friends. I see two people in love and finally admitting it to themselves.” She said quietly.  
“See. Nothing to worry about.” Sherlock said.

“But I do worry.” She said. John got up and gathered the frail old woman in his arms. Mrs. Hudson had grown older in the past few years. John felt her age through his trained hands. Sherlock got up from his chair with a grumble and came to hug both his boyfriend and his land lady. Mrs. Hudson sniffled a bit.

“Good god woman. Get yourself together.” Sherlock said in mock scolding. He laughed as he went to the kitchen. John let her go and smiled.

“See. Nothing is different.” He said.

“I know. But it is.” Mrs. Hudson dried her eyes and waved John away. She went to her flat and John exhailed.

“So, what to do with these?” John asked eyeing the papers.

“Take them to the fish shop. Let them use them as wrappers.” Sherlock said. He sat down on the sofa. John sat next to him.  
“Fish wrappers.” John muttered and Sherlock laughed.


	19. Royalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out who the king is...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I have to say I am over whelmed by the response this has gotten me. Thank you all for reading. It's taken on quite a life of it's own and I have to admit that I am thinking about it being a series.   
> Please send comments! I love reading what you have thought!

CHAPTER 19- Royalty

Sherlock and John went on with their life. Mycroft’s minions found nothing at the flat. Sherlock was pacing the sitting room, dangerously bored. John was sitting at his desk, answering some emails.  
“I can’t believe we have found nothing.” Sherlock spat. He was frustrated with a case that was moving slowly.  
“I can.” John said. “Mary was good.”  
“Yes, she was.” Sherlock said. He softened a bit at the memory of her and he flopped onto the sofa.   
“I was thinking about our relationship.” John said. “Mine and Mary’s. She was so nervous about the baby. I chalked it up to first time motherhood. But now, in retrospect...”  
“The baby.” Sherlock mumbled. He sat upright. “The baby!”   
“What?” John said. He knew that Sherlock was onto something.  
“I told you I had a nagging feeling. John, where did that blanket come from?”  
“Which?”  
“The pink one. The one you brought here?” John thought for a moment.  
“I…. I…. I assumed from either you or Mycroft.”  
“Not me. You know me better than that.”  
“Mycroft?” John asked. He knew the answer. John was up the stairs faster than the still injured Sherlock and was pulling out things in his wardrobe. He found the small box that he was looking for. He put it on the bed and opened the top. He stood looking at it. Sherlock took his hand and rubbed his hand along his thumb. John nodded and Sherlock began to gently take the items that John had secreted away from the flat out. He put them all on the bed for further inspection. John held a picture of him and Mary and looked at it.  
“I thought I was beyond this.” John said. Sherlock examined the blanket. It was finely made, hand knit. But not English. Possibly Italian. He sniffed it and underneath the scent of Mary’s perfume was something else. Something akin to death.  
“John. This didn’t come from the Holmes family. It came from the king.”  
“Mary told me who most of the gifts had come from. I filtered.”  
“You filtered.”  
“Yes, I did.” John said with a smile. He picked up the silver rattle and held it in the palm of his hand. “Mary told me this wasn’t a gift. This was….”  
“Hers.” Sherlock watched John wrap his fingers around the cool metal center.  
“Yes.” John looked at it from every angle. There were no seams. It was perfect. He handed it to Sherlock.  
“We need to xray it.” John nodded. He looked at his watch. It was early afternoon and he was sure that Molly was still at her lab. John grabbed his coat and Sherlock shrugged his on.

 

**************************************************************

“Nothing!” Sherlock yelled as he slammed his hand into the silver metal lab table. There was nothing in the rattle. He was sure that there was something there. Or it was a clue.   
“It was a long shot.” John said. Molly had left the room when Sherlock was yelling. John came and put his arm around Sherlock in hopes to calm him down.  
“I thought I knew… I thought this was it.” He said. He sunk down onto the stool beneath him.  
“I think we are still on the right track. Mycroft said that there was a long trail back to the photos, but had gotten nowhere fast.”  
“I know.” Sherlock said. He sounded resigned. John’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out.  
“Dinner tonight. The three of us. I have news. My car will pick you up in one hour.-MH” John turned his phone towards Sherlock.  
“We have been summoned.” John said.  
“I don’t want to go.” Sherlock pouted.  
“Neither do I. But I want to hear his news. And to be honest, love, I don’t want to cook. I don’t want take away. So, let’s soak him for a meal.” Sherlock fought the turning up of his mouth at the corners, but John’s gentle hand on his arm made him change his mind. He took John’s phone and sent back a text.  
“Two hours. We have plans for a while.- JW” He slipped John’s phone back into his pocket and gave him a look. John sighed and nodded.

*************************************************************

They grabbed a cab back to the flat. Sherlock pulled put a few bills and thrust them at the cabbie as they pulled up in front of the flat. John opened the door and nearly ran up the stairs. But Sherlock stopped at the bottom.

“What?” John mouthed as Sherlock put his finger to his lips. Someone else was here.  
John reached automatically for the gun he kept in his waistband to find that he had forgotten it. Sherlock shook his head. John climbed the stairs first, Sherlock close behind.  
Standing in their sitting room was a man. Average height and build, thinning brown hair he had all but shaved off. He was tan, wearing an expensive Italian suit, and shoes, and glittering in gold jewelry.  
“Mr. King, I presume.” Sherlock said hanging up his coat.  
“Yes. Mr. Holmes. Dr. Watson.” The accent was vaguely American, with something long ago forgotten underneath. Born somewhere else. Raised in America.  
“To what do we owe this pleasure?” John asked. Sherlock looked at John out of the corner of his eye. He was stick straight, his hands in fists at his sides. Military training taking over. Sherlock let out a breath internally that John was in control.  
“We all know what I am doing here. I am looking for the drive.” Mr. King sat down in Sherlock’s Chair. Sherlock took up his place in John’s and John came to stand near him. He was too stiff to relax. Sherlock willed him to relax a bit.  
“So are we.” Sherlock said.  
“And I know that.” Mr. King said studying his manicured nails. He was bored. “I’ve been watching.”  
“And if you have been watching, than you know we do not have it.” John said through clenched teeth. He was trying to work out how this man got into his home without tripping the sensors.  
“But I know you are close.” Mr. King said. “You will find it for me.”  
“Or what?” John snarled.  
“Or what?” Mr. King snickered. “Or, I will continue to hurt the ones you love. Your lovely wife took that drive years ago from me. It wasn’t hers to take. I want it back.”  
Mr. King rose from the chair and without another look walked to the door. He stopped short and turned around. “Gentlemen, I hope that you understand the gravity of this situation.”  
Sherlock nodded and John seethed anger from every pour. Sherlock put his hand on John’s arm and Mr. King left the flat.  
“How the bloody hell… what the hell did Mycroft do… How did we not…” John couldn’t formulate all the questions in his head. Sherlock stood up, pulled John into his arms.  
“I don’t know. But we are having dinner with him. I hope that the restaurant he chooses isn’t one we like. Because by the time the wine is finished breathing I think they will be asking me to leave. I do not plan on giving my brother one bit of a leg to stand on.” Sherlock said. John relaxed into his arms and put his around Sherlock. The adrenaline was beginning to decrease and he was starting to feel the fall. Sherlock stepped back and sent a text to his brother.

“Car. Now. We need to talk now.-SH”  
“What happened to two hours?-MH”  
“Now.-SH” John went to the first floor to check on Mrs. Hudson. He felt better that she was out visiting her sister. John picked up his phone and called Lestrade.  
“John. How are you mate?”  
“Listen, our flat was broken into. We met Mr. King.”   
“Shite.” Lestrade said. “Do I need to come over?”  
“No. It’s under control. Just check on Molly for me. But be careful. Don’t freak her out too much.” “Done. Are you okay?” Lestrade asked.  
“I don’t know.”  
“Call me if you need me. Have you spoken to the other one?”  
“Mycroft will be here soon.” John rang off from Lestrade and he and Sherlock were standing on the pavement waiting for the long black car when it came. Mycroft was wise enough not to be in the car. 

 

****************************************************************  
Sherlock, who had been the calm constant through the whole interview with Mr. King was now the opposite of John. John’s posture was still straight as an arrow, but Sherlock thumped his way into the restaurant, back to the small private room Mycroft had so intelligently arranged. Sherlock flung open and door and was seething man of rage.  
“How fucking dare you.” He screamed at his brother. “No redundancies in the system? You let someone figure out its weak point and cut it? You allowed the man who hurt John, who killed Mary and Jane waltz into our home as if it were a 24 hour market?”   
Mycroft sat in his chair, allowing his brother’s rage to be taken out on him. John was sure that this was not the first time nor the last. Mycroft kept a calm face, seemingly unfazed by it all. But John was getting to know his boyfriend’s brother. He knew that if he looked carefully enough he could see the worry, the fear and the failure in his eyes and face.  
“And Mrs. Hudson. You were damn lucky she’s out of town. God knows what could have happened to her.” Sherlock seemed to run out of steam. He slumped in the chair and John came to sit down next to him.  
“Dr. Watson, I assume that you will calmly tell me what happened.” Mycroft said. John nodded and looked at Sherlock. He was tense and angry and there was a reddened blush to his cheeks. John raised his hand and stroked Sherlock’s cheek bone. Sherlock leaned into the gentle touch and calmed considerably.  
“We met the King.” John said.


	20. Learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John learns about Sherlock

CHAPTER 20- Learning

Mycroft looked at John and Sherlock. He now understood why Sherlock was so upset. John recounted the tail to Mycroft and he hung his head in a bit of shame.   
“American?” Mycroft asked.  
“Yes, but there was something under that. He was either born there to parents from someplace else, or he himself emigrated as a young child.” Sherlock felt his heart swell at the fact John had picked that up.  
“And what did he want?” Sherlock scoffed at Mycroft’s question.  
“To scare us.” John said plainly. He understood what Mycroft was asking. Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. After a moment of thought Mycroft took out his phone and began tapping away at the keys. There was a lot of silence and Sherlock took a glass of water from the table and swallowed it down.   
“We may have a CCTV image from the street shortly.” Mycroft said. “Then you can identify him we can begin a trace.” Life was easier in some ways with Mycroft’s ability to utilize all the British Government’s software and technology. It saved time for sure. John nodded his head in understanding. He was still upset but it was nothing to the affects that Sherlock was still feeling.  
“There was a reason you called us here this evening. What was it?” John asked, trying to get the information that Mycroft had for them and move on. His own adrenaline rush was fading and he wanted to sleep.  
“I have been doing research into where the disk was taken and if there was a reason the information was hidden in the letters to Jane. I found a link.” John’s eyes got big and he noticed that even Sherlock’s attention level had changed. Mycroft cleared his throat.  
“We know that the disk was taken in Croatia. I can put Mary there on a wet op for the CIA. From what I have been able to research into the op, it turned bad and at least three agents were burned. Mary might have been one of them. I think she was in deep cover and found the drive. She knew it contained information on her and she took it as protection. Shortly after this wet op, Mary came to England and began her life here.”  
“Okay, so that was all stuff we could have figure out or discussed over the phone.” John said. He was becoming frustrated with the older Holmes brother.  
“Agreed.” Mycroft said. “But what I wanted to tell you in person was that as careful as Mary was, she slipped up. I found records of old flats she had rented from the time she came to England. There were nine not counting the one she inhabited with you. I had a team go into each one. Nothing to find. Until I came to the first one she rented. She was still paying the rent. She hadn’t lived there in years. No one lives there. It’s furnished. Clothes in the dresser. Toiletries in the bath. Nothing out of place. Looks like the owner is at work. But there is one thing. A chess board. With a game in progress. And the black king is missing. Very recently removed.” Sherlock pondered this information and steepled his fingers in thought.  
“Anything else disturbed?” he asked. Mycroft shook his head. Sherlock nodded his. Mycroft slid a key silver key across the table along with an address written on a piece of paper. Sherlock put them both in his pocket. John stared at the table. Mary was never able to let go of her other life and it bothered him more than a little bit.   
“I had the place searched. No signs of the flash drive.” Mycroft stated. John sighed and stood up.  
“Well, than….” He left the room. Sherlock stood to go. Mycroft put his hand up to stop his brother.  
“I will send over photos for the two of you to look at as soon as possible. But give the flat sometime before you go there. If you are being watched than you are being followed as well.” Sherlock turned on his heel and left the room. He found John standing on the pavers out front, his arms crossed his chest. Sherlock put his arm around John and John relaxed into it.  
***********************************************************************************

“Chess.” John said as they rode back in of the long black car to the flat. “Mary always said she hated the game. She hated trying to figure out moves twenty moves ahead.”  
“She was tired.” Sherlock said. “Spy work, much like Chess is a mental game. It’s exhausting at times.” John nodded and looked out the window.   
“You play of course.” John said. Sherlock made a noncommittal noise. “I tried. I’m not great but I can hold my own.”  
“I don’t doubt it.” Sherlock said. John got out of the car and walked straight up the stairs to their flat. He took of his coat and started the kettle. Sherlock sat in his chair to think. Mary was really good at hiding things and this was no exception. Mary hid the drive well.  
Sherlock lost track of time. He next noticed John thrust a cup of hot tea in his hand and flop into his chair. Sherlock sipped the brew and was concerned that there was more to the picture than meets the eye.  
“There has been something that has been bothering me for some time.” Sherlock said. John raised his eyebrows and Sherlock continued. “I have felt, call it a gut instinct if you will, that the drive is somewhere in Jane’s room. Or has something to do with Jane. But I can’t put my finger on it.”  
John nodded but stayed silent. He went up to their room after sometime and put all the things back into their box. He looked at the sonogram photo of Jane that Mary had framed and turned the frame over in his hands. It was oddly shaped frame felt a bit heavier on the bottom. John turned it and it fell. The frame spilt open and there was just the littlest hint of gold peeking out from the corner. He put it back in the box and never noticed.  
John sat on the edge of the bed for what felt like days. He listened as Sherlock came up the stairs and stopped in the doorway. John didn’t move.  
“I know.” He said. Sherlock leaned against the door jam and crossed his arms across his chest and his ankles as he stood. John watched his bare feet and realized he had changed for bed.  
“What do you need?” Sherlock asked.  
“I don’t know. Part of me, a big part of me wants to screw the world. Screw Mr. King. Take you and go somewhere else. Start over again. Just the two of us.”  
“That sounds perfect.” Sherlock said.  
“But part of me wants to find this damn flash drive. Give it Lestrade or Mycroft or someone and have it all done and over with. To stop hiding in the shadows. Put Mary in the grave and leave her there.”  
John lifted his head and searched Sherlock’s face. “Mycroft sent over the photos. I showed him which one was correct. He’s put teams on the flat, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Rob and Lestrade.”  
“Harry.” John nearly spit the name out. “I know that they are targeting everyone we care about, but what about Harry? I don’t ever want to see her again, but I also don’t want my wife to be responsible for her death.” Sherlock chewed on his lip in thought. He thought it was convenient that John blamed Mary for all the problems in his life now.  
“Mycroft interceded on our behalf. Harry doesn’t need a team. She’s currently in a locked treatment center in Switzerland.”   
“Switzerland?” John questioned.  
“Mycroft found her on her way here two days ago. He picked her up in the pub down the street. They had met once before. She recognized him when he approached her. She was coming here to ask you for your forgiveness and to help in her treatment. Mycroft took care of it.”  
“Your fucking brother. Always cleaning up the mess.”  
“I know love. But it’s what he’s best at.” Sherlock sighed and came to sit next to John. “We’ll go to the flat tomorrow.”  
“Yeah.” John scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’m going to take a shower.” He rose from the bed and went downstairs. He stopped at the top of the steps and turned his head over his shoulder. “I won’t be long.” Sherlock nodded and stretched out on the bed.

********************************************************************************************************  
He listened as he heard the shower turn on and waited three minutes before going down the stairs.  
John felt the change in the air pressure and the temperature of the room before he realized that the door was open. He had his face in the stream of hot water and heard Sherlock curse low and under his breath as he ripped the bandage off of his side. Sherlock stepped into the shower and put his arms around John. He leaned down and planted a kiss on his shoulder. John settled back into Sherlock’s arms and let the hot water run over both of them.  
“How is your side?” John asked, his fingers lightly tracing the healing would that transected Sherlock’s body.  
“Hurts.” Sherlock admitted. He was not one to complain about pain unless it suited his needs, but he was being honest with John.  
“Good.” John said. “It will teach you not to be careful.” Sherlock chuckled into John’s hair and John smiled as he continued to relax. Sherlock moved his arms and began to wash John’s body with the body wash he favored. He let his hands go first, trailing after them with kisses and little nips. John shuddered at Sherlock’s touch. It had been over a week since they had touched each other in that way and John had forgotten how much he craved Sherlock’s touch. Sherlock heard John moan as he began to stroke his cock with his hands and moved to kiss the gentle flesh around his hips.  
“Sherlock.” John whispered and his hands found themselves tangled in the wet nest of black curls on Sherlock’s head. Sherlock began to take John into his mouth and suck gently on the sensitive head while moving his tongue around the ridge. John put his right hand on the wall of the shower to steady himself as Sherlock fell to his knees to better accommodate John. John moaned as Sherlock took his hard cock further into his mouth, controlling his gag reflex and letting the tip hit the back of his throat. Sherlock held him for a moment before pulling back ever so slowly and gently. John let out a breath of excitement and Sherlock smiled a little.  
“I love the feeling of your mouth on me.” John said. Sherlock slid him back into his hot slick mouth and pulled out again. He repeated the motion time and again, slowly increasing the pace with each successive movement. John felt the first bits of pre cum leak from his tip and Sherlock used his tongue to wipe them away. John grabbed the curls tighter and Sherlock moaned at the pain and pleasure it brought him. He focused only on John. He sucked his hard cock, his hand finding it’s way around to John’s arse. Gently, Sherlock slid his wet finger in John’s whole and began to manipulate his prostate. John felt the electric shock from the bundle of nerves and it put him over the edge. He unloaded into Sherlock’s mouth, the sweet salty mix running down the back of his throat. John shuddered as Sherlock released him from his mouth and gather him into his arms.  
“W..W.. What the hell?” John asked, out of breath.  
“You seemed to have enjoyed it.”  
“That’s not what I meant.” John said, regaining a bit of his lost composure.  
Sherlock kissed John and they finished in the shower. John lay on the bed, still damp and very relaxed. Sherlock lay on his side, running his fingers along John’s torso.  
“Thank you.” John said lazily.  
“It was my pleasure.” Sherlock smiled wickedly at John and John laughed.  
“Coy you cannot pull off, love.” He said as he reached out to kiss Sherlock. Sherlock smiled and kissed him back. John pulled the duvet over himself, comfortable with the fact his body felt better than it had in days.  
************************************************************************

“Do you think my doctor would approve of a little more strenuous activity?” Sherlock asked. John smiled and in response pulled Sherlock to him.   
“As long as you don’t over stretch.” John said. Kissing Sherlock full on the mouth, John’s hands wandered down the long man until he found his hard cock. Gently he rolled to his side and began to feather little touches across its length. Sherlock moaned into John’s mouth and John kissed his jawline up to his ear. Sherlock’s hand reached out for the bottle of lube and he poured some over his swelling head to give John a bit of a hint.  
“Is this what you want?” John asked, fully stroking the shaft. Sherlock bit his bottom lip and nodded.  
“God yes.” He breathed. Sherlock lay back on the bed, as John worked at his cock and covered his chest with feather lite kisses. It was driving Sherlock mad. John moved his hand to his own ass and began to work his slick fingers into himself. Sherlock watched as John moaned a bit and noticed a hardening of John’s cock. Sherlock licked his lips in anticipation.  
“I want you to tell me what is going on in that bloody head of yours.” John said. Sherlock gasped a bit and closed his eyes. John moved so that he was over Sherlock, his wet and ready arse sitting neatly over his cock. Sherlock felt John’s weight on his own hands, pressed into the mattress to keep Sherlock comfortable.  
“Seeing you work yourself, it’s hot.”  
“What else?”  
“Feeling you get yourself ready to take me into you….. it’s more than I could ever hope for.”  
“More.” John demanded.  
“I keep thinking how much I love you and how much I want to be nowhere else. No place other than here with you in bed, your hands on me, your eyes, your mouth. God that mouth. So skilled and expert. Knowing just what it does to me to feel where you have touched me with your lips.” Sherlock moaned.  
“Tell me.”  
“Take me John.” Sherlock breathed. Sherlock felt the shift and noted John’s hot lips on his own. He felt his hips rise to meet John’s arse and felt himself slip inside John’s wet and wanting body. Sherlock was unable to decipher much more than that. He felt the movement of John riding his cock. He felt the weight and steady heat of John’s cock as it rode between their flat bellies. He felt John’s hands slide to his hips and take them. He felt his own hips rising in pleasure. But it was all a blur, all sensation and no thinking.  
A moan escaped John as he felt the hot pre cum begin to seep onto his own stomach. Sherlock shifting his hips to push further into John, allowing him to swallow up his manhood. John felt the sweat slicken their bodies and a moment after Sherlock whispered his name into his ear with love, want and passion, John came and Sherlock released himself into John. They held onto each other before collapsing in a tangle heap of limbs, duvet and sweat.  
John was the first to move, shifting off of Sherlock. Sherlock was in pain, but the pleasure of his orgasm kept him still. John returned with a flannel and wiped Sherlock clean and then himself. Sherlock winced as John’s light touch hit the edges of the wound.  
“Hurts?” John asked. Sherlock nodded very slightly. He didn’t want to ruin his buzz. “You want something?” Sherlock shifted and winced again. John didn’t wait for a reply. He got up, pulled on his sleep pants and padded down to the bathroom. He came back a few minutes later with a bottle of water and two small red tablets. John handed them to Sherlock who swallowed them down. John sat on the foot of the bed.  
“Thanks.” Sherlock said. John put his back against the footboard and looked at Sherlock. He drew his knees up to his chest and circled them with his arms.  
“No problem.” John watched Sherlock, a smile on his face.  
“You okay?” Sherlock asked John.  
“I’m Okay.” John answered. “Happy. Well fucked and just content.”  
“What was with the questions?” Sherlock asked. Part of him wished for a cigarette. John sensed it and got up from the bed. He returned to his hurting lover and gave him one with a plate for an ashtray. Sherlock lit it and took a long drag. He blew the smoke at the ceiling and John resumed his position.  
“Don’t think I am supporting your smoking habit. I just see the want in your eyes. Cigarettes are better than….” John let the statement hang in the air.  
“I know. And it’s not like I really wanted the cigarette. More the ritual of a cigarette after sex. Cigarette, then get the needle ready.” Sherlock’s eyes went away for a moment, clouded with memory. He came back and John relaxed.  
“Are you okay?” John asked. He was concerned.  
“I’m better. I think you said it all. Happy, well fucked and content.” Sherlock took another drag. “But you forgot one.”  
“What’s that?”  
“Loved.” John smiled and nodded. He stretched out his legs and Sherlock put his and on John’s foot.  
“So, the questions?” Sherlock prodded again.  
“Learning.”  
“Learning what?”  
“What you were thinking about. What turns you on. Where your head was at.”  
“But you can tell that by my reactions. I can by yours.”  
“Yes, but sometimes it’s the words too.” Sherlock nodded and John sighed.


	21. Fitting It Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock falls through the looking

Chapter 21- Fitting it Together

“Tea?” Sherlock asked and John nodded his head. He grabbed his tee shirt and headed downstairs. Sherlock followed, heading to his room to find clean sleep wear. He came into the kitchen and sat down on the stool. He absently was searching his emails and picked up a biscuit from the box that way laying open on the table. He chewed and read his back log of emails.  
“We should decide if we are going back to work after all this is sorted out.” Sherlock said. There were several cases that could pull him out into the field easily. But he found that he had no desire. He put his phone down and allowed the afterglow from sex with John just numb his mind for a while. John put a hot cup down in front of him and took the stool opposite him.  
“Back to work? Me back at the surgery and you out solving crimes?” John asked. “As opposed to what?”  
“Taking a break. A proper holiday. Maybe a lazy honeymoon trip to secluded beach somewhere.” John’s face went white and slack all at once. “Too soon?”  
“Too soon.” John swallowed. He picked up his tea and blew the steam across the top. “Not that I am saying no. But I think this is all too new. I…. that is to say….”  
Sherlock held up his hand. John swallowed again, pushing the words he was trying to spit out into his stomach. He covered them with tea.  
“John, you know how I feel about you. I would love to marry you. But I agree. It’s too soon. My filter isn’t working at all tonight. You seemed to have dislodged it somewhere….” Sherlock’s eyes went to the ceiling and John smiled.  
“I love you too.” John said. “And maybe one day we will sit down and talk about marriage. But not today.”  
“Fine. Then, come with me. I want to take advantage of the lazy feeling I have. I want to be with you. And you are entirely too far away from me.” John smiled and held out his hand. Sherlock took it and John picked up his cup.  
“Tellie?” he asked. He wanted to relax a bit and let the pain medication he gave Sherlock begin to ease the stiffness he saw in his side.  
“Sure.” Sherlock shrugged and they settled themselves into the sofa. John turned on a nature documentary on sharks. John watched with half a brain while gently running his fingers through Sherlock’s curls. Sherlock had his head on his lap, and it seemed to be Sherlock’s favorite way to sit with John on the sofa. John like it and he held Sherlock’s hand with the other hand.

*******************************************

Mycroft texted at an ungodly hour and John reached over Sherlock to shut up the little shrill noise the phone made on Sherlock’s table every time there was a new message. John counted seven in all. Sherlock was in a dead sleep and John was bleary eyed. He noticed the last message as he struggled to make the blasted device quiet.  
“Found him. Call me.- MH” John opened up the phone to read through all the messages from Mycroft.  
“I have a lead.-MH”  
“Sherlock, I have news.-MH”  
“We think we know who he is. –MH”  
“Ignoring me doesn’t become you, brother.-MH”  
“You need to see what I have found. Sending over a hard copy shortly.-MH”  
“File on kitchen table.-MH”  
John leapt from the bed and ran downstairs. He turned on the overhead light and saw the brown file sitting in the center of the kitchen table. He pulled up the stool and moved the file towards him. He lifted the cover. Sitting in front of him was a black and white photo of Mr. King. John shifted that out of the way and looked at the pages. There were not many.  
John began to read. “Giacomo King, born in Sicily, 25, May, 1976. Fourth of seven children to Angelo and Natalia (nee Parrino) King. The King family were summoned to New York by the Lucchese Crime Family. Giacomo was raised to join his father in the ranks of the mafia. Mother, alive, living in Queens, New York. Three sisters, married throughout United Stated. Three Brothers. One is Anthony, younger and right hand. One dead. Thought to traffic in guns, wars, cocaine and prostitution. Rarely seen as the person who facilitates, seen as a behind the scene, pulling the strings.”  
John continued to read a rap sheet of suspected crimes. It read to him like a greatest hits version of all his favorite mafia movies compiled into one place. This man was one not to mess with. John closed the folder and moved to his chair in the sitting room. He still had Sherlock’s phone in his hand. He pulled up the text messages.  
“How does an Italian Mobster from New York get involved with a CIA wet ops in Croatia?-JW”  
“That’s the one thing we cannot account for. He is staying at the Savoy. Room 207. Where is my brother?-MH”  
“Sleeping like the dead.-JW”  
“Good. He doesn’t sleep enough.-MH” John nodded at the phone. He waited a few moments before sending off the next text he typed.  
“Thank you for helping with Harry.-JW”  
“You care and love my brother, through all his faults. Least I could do was return the favor. She’s well. You should go see her after this is finished.-MH” John put the phone down and let the conversation fall after that. He sat in the chair for a while, thinking about the puzzle that lay before him. He was sure that there was more to the story and he wanted to run to wake Sherlock to set his super brain on the pieces. But he knew that he needed sleep and the pain killers were only going to cloud his brain. It was better that he woke naturally.  
John got up from the chair and felt the stiffness in his limbs. The morning sun was beginning to reach the front windows of the flat. John hadn’t slept at all. And he didn’t expect to. He made himself a cup of tea, switched on the light at the desk and sat down with a pad, a pen and the files. He began to make notes and write everything he could think of down. By the time he heard Sherlock beginning to stir upstairs, he was on his third pot of coffee, it was nearly eight in the morning and he had taken two energy drinks shots that he kept hidden in his medical bag. One of his secrets to keeping up with the consulting detective who never slept.

************************************************************  
Sherlock padded down the stairs in his pajamas, blue robe and bare feet. His hair was a halo of manic curls and his face was creased from the pillow. He yawned and scratched his back between the shoulder blades. John was sitting on the floor, looking at the papers spread before him on the sofa, the table, the wall and the floor. Sherlock bent down for a kiss and tasted the coffee on his lips. John kissed him with almost as much enthusiasm as one would kiss their mother. His eyes never left the notes.  
“Good morning love. Is there coffee? “ Sherlock asked as he walked into the kitchen. The pot was empty and as Sherlock set to make a new one, he noticed the three filters in the trash. He saw the empty energy drinks and turned to see the wide eyed John in the sea of papers.  
“John, what is going on?” he asked warily as he approached his boyfriend. “When did you last sleep?”  
“Transport.” John muttered. Sherlock smirked and turned to John.   
“That’s my line.”  
“Works thought, doesn’t it?” John said. John stood up and paced. Sherlock knew he was hyped up on caffeine. He wondered how to get him down and to sleep.   
“John, what happened last night?” Sherlock noticed his phone sitting on the table next to his chair. The battery was dead. He remembered pugging it in upstairs before he and John climbed into bed for the night.  
“Mycroft.” One word. One word that at this moment Sherlock hated. He took John by the arms as he walked past him, in his endless loop and stopped him. John looked up and saw Sherlock for the first time that morning. Really saw him. The flash of recognition was there and Sherlock felt as if he had broken through the first wall.  
“John, sit down. I’m going to make us something to eat. Then you will tell me what all this is about.” Sherlock said as he waved his hand at the paper. John nodded but didn’t sit. He was nervous energy. Sherlock fixed eggs and toast and set it down on the floor near where John had settled again, looking at the papers. He handed him a bottle of water.  
“John you need to eat.” Sherlock said.  
“Transport.” John said again. Sherlock shook his head. If this was what he was like, than John deserved a sainthood or a knighthood or something for putting up with it for so many years. Sherlock made a mental note to buy something nice for John when he had a chance.  
“Fuck.” Sherlock said and sat down next to John. John opened the water and drained it in one go. “So tell me what happened last night.” John tried to open his mouth to get the words out.  
“Your phone. Mycroft. King. The Savoy. Mafia. Mary. Connections. I can’t see all the connections.” It was fast and staccato. Sherlock found himself feeling like he fell through the looking glass.  
“John, you need to eat. And to sleep. Come on, love. For me.” John shook his head. Sherlock sighed, took his phone upstairs to charge and called his brother from John’s phone.  
“Holmes.” Mycroft answered. He was in his car on the way to his office.  
“What the hell did you and my boyfriend chat about last night?” Sherlock asked.  
“He answered your phone. I was able to connect who King is. He’s staying at the Savoy. Didn’t John show you the file?”  
“No. John hasn’t slept in days. He’s wired on caffeine. He’s not eating. And he’s currently sitting on the floor of the sitting room with notes and papers and graphs all around him. He can’t articulate well enough to tell me anything.” Sherlock heard Mycroft’s hand cover the mouth piece on his phone as he gave his driver new directions to Baker Street.  
“Sherlock, use the ridiculous mind palace of yours. Check on John’s health. I will be there promptly.” Mycroft hung up his phone and Sherlock sighed. We steeled himself and went back down through the rabbit hole.


	22. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How family fits into this story

Chapter 22- Family

Sherlock went downstairs to see that John hadn’t moved. Sherlock sat on the floor behind him, putting his legs on either side of him. He wrapped his arms around his middle and pulled him back against his chest. John shifted and allowed Sherlock to hold him without breaking his gaze. Sherlock felt his pulse in his wrists. It was fast and thready, but it was constant. Not so fast that it was dangerous, but it was worrisome. Sherlock sat with John, rocking him slightly. Mycroft distinctive foot fall was heard in the stairs and Sherlock looked up at his brother as he came into the flat. Sherlock nodded his head and Mycroft relaxed a bit. He went into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water and handed it to Sherlock. Sherlock uncapped it and handed it to John who took it, emptied it, never moving his eyes from the papers. Mycroft stood to the side, scanning all of John’s work and he tilted his head.  
“John, did you really see this?” Mycroft asked. John looked up at him for the first time.  
“Yes.”  
“It’s good. It’s really good.” Mycroft said. Sherlock began to scan the papers that he could see from his vantage point. He was impressed.  
“Just can’t see the last bit.” John said. He yawned a bit. Sherlock felt that his pulse was slowing. John sagged a bit further into Sherlock. He was beginning to crash.  
“John, why don’t you go to sleep for a while? Let me look at it?” Mycroft offered.  
“Sleep” John said. “Can’t sleep until I solve it. Transport.” Mycroft’s mouth twitched with the hint of a smile at his brother’s word.  
“John, come on, love. Let’s go to bed. We will solve it in a few hours.” Sherlock crooned into his ear.   
“Sleep. You’ll come too?” John asked. Sherlock nodded. John rose and went to the bathroom. Sherlock sagged against the door for a moment and went to John’s medical bag that was still sitting on the kitchen counter. He took out a sleeping pill, crushed it and put it in a glass of water. He stirred it until it dissolved and when John came out of the bath, he walked with John up the stairs, his arms around John’s waist, whispering sweet things in his ear.'

*************************************************************

Sherlock appeared in the sitting room twenty minutes later. Mycroft was crouched on the floor reading some of the notes there.  
“Seems you have had some influence on Dr. Watson.” Mycroft said. Sherlock went to the kitchen and started the kettle.   
“What did you talk about last night? What was in the file?” Sherlock asked as he busied himself with the tea. Mycroft came into the kitchen and sat down on the stool. He filled Sherlock in on what he had discovered and John’s questions.  
The two brothers were sitting on the floor, sorting through the madness and sleep deprived papers that John had put together. There were notes, scribbles, incoherent thoughts. But underneath it all, there was a lot of sense. John was onto something. But there was one piece missing. Neither of the brothers could see it either. It wasn’t that John’s information or thought pathways were faulty, it was a lack of information.  
“It’s too much.” Sherlock said. He flopped back onto the floor. Mycroft had taken off his jacket, waist coat and rolled up his shirt sleeves. His left shirt tail was hanging out of his pants. He was leaning back on his hands with his legs stretched out in front of him.

***************************************

“I wish I had a camera.” Both brothers looked towards the doorway. John was standing there with his arms crossed smiling. “This is a side of you two that no one gets to see.” Sherlock put his head back on the floor and reached out for John. John came and took his hand and lay down on the floor next to Sherlock.  
“It’s brilliant John.” Sherlock said as he pulled John closer to him and kissed the top of his head. “But there isn’t enough information to make it all work.”  
“I know.” John said. He sighed deeply. “How long did I sleep?” he asked. Sherlock looked at his watch.  
“Six hours.” John nodded. Mycroft pulled up his knees and hugged them with his arms.  
“So, what do you say? I put on a pot of coffee, we call for some take away and get to work?” John said. Sherlock tensed against him and Mycroft shot him a look. “Kidding about the coffee. But food is in order.” Before John could get off the floor, Mycroft sent a text message. John stood up, went to get some water and began to clear up the cups that littered the floor around the brothers.  
“It’s spooky. You two not sniping at each other.” John said. Sherlock’s hands had moved to their position under his chin and Mycroft was twisting a shirt button between his fingers.   
“We don’t snipe.” Mycroft stated.   
“You do. But that’s the way you show affection.” Sherlock moaned. “I know. I know…. Sentiment.”  
Mycroft’s minions came in to the flat with bags of take away. John sorted it all out. Working with Mycroft was going to be easy on the palate. John opened boxes, placing them on the low table in the sitting room, pushing all the papers to the side. Sherlock sat up and eyed the boxes.  
“What the hell did you order?” Sherlock asked.  
“What?” Mycroft asked offended. John peered into the boxes. It was worse than he thought.  
“I would have never thought…. That you of all people….”John couldn’t stop the laughter that was bubbling up from inside. Mycroft. The man who usually lived in waist coats and suits. Who carried an umbrella everywhere, who never slouched or seemed anything less than a perfect stereotypical English stuffed shirt had a dark side. A very dark side.  
“What? Is what I ordered for dinner a problem?” he asked. He tucked into a box of chips and American Hot Dogs laden in some sort of sauce.  
Sherlock dug into his box with gusto, a bit of the red slightly spicy sauce on his lip. “Is this something from your childhood?” John asked lifting the sausage to his lips.  
“Not really. When we were children we travelled. A lot. Mother thought it would be good for us to see the world. We spent the summer one year in the Southwest. Not very much fun.” Mycroft said. He took another mouthful of his dinner. After swallowing it, he continued. “The only thing that we, both Sherlock and I found to be the redeeming feature of that trip was this. They call them Texas Hot Wieners. I found a place run by two expats from New York in the East End. Truly a horrific spot. Normally wouldn’t go near a place like it without a hazardous waste team. But this, is their gift. And when I am stressed- more so than normal, so not comments Sherlock- this is my comfort food.” John lifted his hot dog in a small salute and they ate in silence for a moment. John studied the two brothers. He put his food down and sighed.  
“Mycroft, may I ask you something?” Mycroft nodded. “This is not what I am used to seeing. This side of you. The one without a waist coat, eating American junk food and sitting on a floor. This is very surreal. And you helped my sister. Why? Why after all this time are you showing me this?” Sherlock stopped mid bite and rotated his head between his brother and his lover. He smiled and returned to eating.  
Mycroft cleared his throat. “Family, John.”  
“I don’t understand.”  
“A long time ago, I had only Sherlock. Then you came into his life. Then he left. There was a void. I saw what you both meant to each other. I understood what real family was. Not just the blood between people. But the love between people. At this point John, from the day that Sherlock jumped off the roof to save you, I considered you my brother too. And family shows each other their faults, their weaknesses. You have shown me that it was time that I let you in.”  
“And Harry?”   
“Harry. It was easy really. She needed to be protected. You needed to stop worrying about her. And after regaining my brother, I hoped, I still hope, that the two of you can put your relationship back together. Even if it’s just a little bit.” Sherlock sat back, his arms supporting his weight behind him and smiled.  
“Never thought you would see that Mycroft doesn’t have a stick up his arse all the time did you?” John laughed.   
“Family” John repeated. He suddenly shot up from his place on the floor. “Family!” he rummaged through different stacks of papers until he found what he was looking for. He reached for his pen and pad and drew a few circles and a few lines. He rechecked his papers and scribbled in the circles. Sherlock and Mycroft leaned in to see what he was working on.  
“You said, Mycroft that King had a family. Parents, sisters, brother. I have a sister and I had parents. Everyone has a family. And so did Mary.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John. John shook his head. “Mary only mentioned it once. She said it fleetingly, in passing. I didn’t clock it them. But it all makes sense now. Mary didn’t take the drive to keep her name out of it. She took it keep her brother safe.”


	23. Brothers and Sisters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter to clean up a bit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a shorty. But it was like a bridge to move onto the next section. I take a turn away from the case directly and move into a bit of personal dynamics. It was fun.  
> I love to comments. It's thrilling. Please keep them coming.
> 
> And a teaser.... if you have made it this far and decide to stick it out to the end.... well, since the story seemed to have gotten away from me some, I decided to make a series out of it. So back to editing the current section and onto writing the next section.
> 
> Thanks again for joining me on this ride!

Chapter 23- Brothers and Sisters

“Mary had a brother?” Sherlock asked. John nodded his head. Mycroft sat up a bit straighter. Both their eyes were wide with anticipation.  
“Yes. Like I said, she only mentioned it once. In passing. We had just begun going around together. I was a wreck still and I wasn’t always paying attention to what she said to me. We were talking about taking her to meet Harry. We were just chatting about how much Harry and I never really were close. Brother sister dynamics. She said that a girl always would love her brother and that they didn’t have to like the choices that they made.”  
“She has a brother.” Mycroft said. He made a soft chuckle in the back of his throat and reached for the list of names that John held in his hand. He scanned the list. Far too many to determine which one it was.  
“Yes. And as you both know, often siblings follow similar paths. Harry is a pharmaceutical representative. I am a doctor. You both are basically problem solvers. See, similar careers. So, is it such a leap to think that Mary and her brother were both agents of some kind?” Sherlock nodded and jumped to his feet. He began pacing as he processed the information.   
“I believe…. I think…. God.” He leaned in and kissed John full on the mouth.  
“Yes. Well.” Mycroft said, a little more than uncomfortable with the display.  
“So, we think we understand why she did what she did. But the problem still staring us in the face is where is it? And why the hell was an American Mafia Don involved in deep covers in Croatia?” John asked, his revelation starting to fall flat.  
“Mycroft, you said that King had a brother who was dead. How did he die? And where?” Sherlock asked. Mycroft scanned the piles of paper scattered around the sitting area. He pulled out one and read it through.  
“He died in Italy. Near…. Udine.” Sherlock nodded his head. “Found dumped in a field. Shot execution style….” Mycroft paused. John was pulling out his laptop to pull up Italian maps.  
“Do you think….. could King be….” John asked as his chicken like pecking over the keys came to a halt as the map loaded.  
“Revenge.” Sherlock said. Mycroft nodded in agreement.  
“Aldo King was killed in Italy. Near Croatia. King must have traced the killer back to the list. God knows what Aldo had gotten involved in. Antidotal reports label him as the trouble maker of the three boys. The black sheep as it was. The play boy. Could have been a simple case of wrong place, wrong time and an agent was asked to deal with the situation to prove his loyalty.” Mycroft said.  
“And that is King’s motivation. Revenge on the person who killed his brother. How he stumbled onto the drive is unknown. But at least we have a sense of what we are dealing with.” Sherlock said.  
“And why he wants to target our family.” John said. He still remembered King’s words. “He said he would continue to hurt the ones we love.”  
“True.” Mycroft stood and gathered his things. He tucked his shirt tail in, rolled down and fastened his sleeves. He put his waist coat on and suddenly with simple movements, the other Mycroft was gone. Back in his place with the usual mask of control was the Mycroft that John knew the best. He was leaving.  
“We need to continue to look.” John said. But he had no idea where to look next.  
“I will look into seeing if I can find out more about Mary’s brother. And if I can get more details on King’s movements in seeking revenge on his brother.” Mycroft finished putting what John regarding his costume into place. “I will be in touch.” John heard the buzz of Mycroft’s phone. He looked at the text message. He frowned, sent a reply and put his phone away. He leveled his head at John.  
“We will finish this.” He said. John nodded and Mycroft was out the door. Sherlock lay back on the floor and John busied himself with picking up the take away cartons. He started to pile up all the papers that were around the sitting room. It was nearly eight o’clock and John was exhausted. He slumped down on the couch and held a stack of papers on the floor.

******************************************************************************

“How bad was I this morning?” John asked. Sherlock tried to hide the smirk, but John knew him well enough to have seen it.   
“It was bad.” Sherlock said. He drew in a deep breath and laughed a bit. “It was a bit not good. A bit like falling through the looking glass. You even used the same intonation as myself when you repeated the word Transport.”  
“I vaguely remember.” John said stifling a yawn. “I’m going to bed. I’m knackered.” Sherlock nodded and reached his head half way up from the floor when John came to kiss him good night. “Please don’t stay up too late. I sleep better with you in the bed.” Sherlock nodded and John climbed the stairs to his room.  
Sherlock lay on the floor until the light from the table next to the sofa burned brighter in the darkening sky. He felt his body stiffen in protest from the hard floor and his lack of movement. He turned the facts they had discovered together around and around in his head. He couldn’t see more without Mycroft’s further findings on either Mary’s brother or King’s movements. There was nothing more to do than wait.  
Sherlock pulled out his mobile and sent a text to John. He knew that John was asleep. He had heard him settle into the bed hours before and he knew that he would find the message. Sherlock went to his room and pulled on some clothes. He grabbed his coat and keys. He was out the door and onto the street.

***************************************************************************************

Sherlock walked through the darkened house. He knew his brother well enough to know that he was still up. He saw the faint light coming from under the door of his office. He stopped and opened the door slowly. Mycroft was sitting at his desk, pouring over the papers in front of him.  
“It took you long enough.” Mycroft said without looking up.

“I thought I would give you some time.” Sherlock said. He sat in the leather chair across from the large cherry desk in the room.  
“Well, what did you tell John?”   
“I told him I was going out for a walk. To clear my head.” Mycroft nodded. “How bad is she?”  
‘She’s comfortable. But that’s about all.” Mycroft said.  
“And father?”  
“He’s upset. But you know mother. She won’t hear anything she doesn’t want to. I’ve set up the best physicians and the best surgeon. But you need to go see her. She’s been asking for you.” Sherlock nodded.  
“Should I bring John?” Sherlock wondered aloud.  
“Can’t hurt anything. She’d love to tut over him. And you really never told them about your relationship….” Mycroft let it hang in the air.  
“I know.” Sherlock felt a deep sense of guilt over the fact he never told his parents he was in love with John.  
“Brother mine, I’ll send the car at ten.”  
“You are still a rubbish big brother.” Sherlock said as he left the house and walked into the night.  
Mycroft watched from the window as his brother went out into the night with only his thoughts.


	24. Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit with Mr. and Mrs. Holmes

Chapter 24- Holmes

Sherlock called his name twice. John felt him sitting next to him on the bed. He groaned a bit.  
“John, love, I need you to wake up. I need to talk to you.” John opened one eye to see Sherlock sitting next to him on the side of the bed, fully dressed, showered and shaved with a cup of tea steaming in his hand.  
“What the bloody hell time is it?” John groaned.  
“A little after eight.” Sherlock shifted so John could sit up in the bed.   
“Did you sleep?” John asked as he took the cup that Sherlock was offering him.  
“I did. A bit. But I also went out to see Mycroft.”  
“Mycroft? Why? What has he found?” Sherlock shook his head.  
“Nothing new yet. It was something else. Our mother.”  
“What about your mother?” John suddenly worried that King might have targeted Mr. and Mrs. Holmes.  
“She fell a few days ago. Stupid really. She was trying to carry in a table that was too heavy for her and my father was not around to help. Instead of being patient, she decided to take matters into her own hands.” John scoffed. He knew her sons were very much like her.  
“Is she alright?” John asked.  
“Broken right hip. Three ribs. Broken left wrist. Small concussion.”  
“And…..” John knew that Sherlock was holding back.  
“We are going to see her in hospital today. Mycroft is sending a car at ten.”  
“Send her my best.” John said. Sherlock looked at John with panic in his eyes. “Oh, you mean we. As in you and I.”  
“Yes. John will you?” Sherlock was pleading, scared to go alone to the hospital.  
“Of course, my love. Why wouldn’t I. I will see my boyfriend’s parents anytime I can. Especially since I love the look into the life you had growing up.” John smiled at the thought and Sherlock shuddered.  
“Wait. John. There is something else.” John settled back into the bed.  
“There always is….”  
“What?” John shook his head. “My parents…. They don’t know.”  
“Know what?” John thought for a second. He purposely put down his tea cup on the bed side table. He sighed as he looked at Sherlock. Sherlock had his hands folded in his lap and was studying them with intent. “Sherlock, do your parents know about our relationship?” John asked gently. He took Sherlock’s hands in his own.  
Sherlock shook his head. John let out an exasperated sigh. “Do you think they read it in the papers?”  
“Maybe.”  
“Do you think they will be upset?”  
“By my lifestyle choice, or by my choice in partners?” Sherlock asked.  
“Either.”  
“I don’t know.” Sherlock answered honestly. John leaned in and kissed Sherlock. He gripped his chin and looked him in the eyes.  
“No matter what, remember that I love you. And everything else will work out fine.” Sherlock nodded. “Do you want to make an overnight out of it?”  
Sherlock’s eyes watched as John got up from the bed and padded around the room pulling out clean trousers, shirt and other items to dress in.  
“Do you think we could?” Sherlock said.  
“I think we could.” John said. He pulled out his overnight bag from the wardrobe and packed a change of clothes. “And I think we deserve it.” Sherlock got up from the bed and went down to his room to pack.  
John was in the bathroom, settling up the last of the toiletries into his bag. Sherlock was checking on some experiment in the kitchen.

***************************************************  
“Sherlock?” John called. He got a mumble of some kind in response. John came and stood in the kitchen door way. “I think when we get back we should move in together. “ Sherlock’s eyes came away from the microscope, his expression one of confusion.  
“But we already live together.” Sherlock said. John could tell he was stressed over the impending visit to his mother’s beside. He was practically whining.  
“Yes, well we do. But I am talking about is moving our things together into one bedroom.” Sherlock nodded.   
“Practical.” John shook his head and let the intention lie. He gathered the bags and left them at the top of the stairs. Sherlock went back to his work and John looked at the clock. Mycroft’s car should be here. He walked to the window and noticed it was waiting.  
“Sherlock, the car is here. Let’s go.” Sherlock sighed heavily and got up from his seat. They put on their coats and John leaned up and kissed Sherlock as he straighten his scarf. “Please. Let me enjoy a little distraction today. I promise I’ll make it up to you tonight if you don’t whine or carry on while we visit your parents.”  
“Make it up to….. oh.” Sherlock smiled a devilish grin and John laughed.  
“Monster.” He grabbed up the bags and they headed into the car. 

*******************************************

The car ride from London to Hastings took about an hour. Sherlock spent the ride with his head on John’s shoulder, playing with his phone, scrolling through emails, news reports and other things at such a dizzying pace that the few times John glanced at it he was instantly nauseated. They arrived at the hospital and John walked up to the doors. Sherlock mopped for a moment and with a look over his shoulder he followed John inside.  
As a general rule, Sherlock avoided hospitals like a man on a mission. Nothing good ever came from them. The lab and the morgue were better. Neat, orderly and quiet. Less human nature and emotions to deal will. But the hospital was a second home to John. He had spent most of his waking adult life in one in one way or another. John asked after Mrs. Holmes and was directed to the floor for patients awaiting surgery.  
Sherlock sagged against the wall of the lobby while John asked his question. He came up to Sherlock. “We should pop into the gift shop and get some flowers. It’s the right thing to do.” Sherlock sighed loudly but said nothing. He felt as if John was almost torturing him into being a model son. “What’s her favorite?” John asked. Sherlock shrugged and scanned the shop for the exit. John grabbed his hand and stared at the display. “The lilies, maybe. They smell nice. Less cliché than roses.” Sherlock shrugged again. John asked the shop assistant for the lilies and he placed the bouquet in Sherlock’s free hand. He didn’t let go of Sherlock’s fingers and lead him through the blandly painted blue halls. They arrived on the door and John released his grip. Sherlock grabbed for his hand again. John nodded and took his hand back. He knocked and entered when invited.  
Martha Holmes looked like a reigning queen in her bed. She was bandaged where her head had hit the floor and her right wrist was in a plaster cast of deep purple. Her right eye was bruised and she was attached to an iv drip. But she was sitting up, plumped up on pillows, her husband at her side.  
“Sherlock! John!” she exclaimed, fighting the urge to clap her hands in delight. “I am so glad to see you both.”  
“Mrs. Holmes. “ John said. She motioned for him to come close to hug her. He did with a smile and kissed her cheek. She was slightly feverish but he suspected it was from the morphine he noticed was attached to her arm.  
“Martha. Please. I’m practically your mother in law.” John stood up suddenly and she gave him a knowing look. John busied himself with shaking Mr. Holmes’ hand before stepping back to Sherlock.   
“Mother, you look….” Sherlock couldn’t find the right word. John nudged him in the back and he brought the flowers to his mother. “These are for you. Obviously.”   
“Oh, Sherlock. Lilies. So lovely.” Sherlock bent to give his mother a kiss on the cheek.  
“Mr. Holmes, how about I treat you to a cuppa?” John asked. He wanted Sherlock to spend a little time alone with his mother. Sherlock sent him a beseeching look of abandonment.  
“Ben, please. That would be lovely.” John nodded.  
“I’ll bring you one back, Sherlock.” John said. “And remember our deal. Your mother will tell me if you were being…. Well you while I am gone.” Martha smiled and winked at John. “Anything you need?” he asked Martha. She shook her head and John left with Ben Holmes.

**************************************

Sherlock sat on the chair his father had vacated and he put his hand on the bed. His mother took it in hers.  
“You look well.” She said. “I’m glad you came and that you brought John.”  
“Thank you.” Sherlock said.   
“How is he doing?”   
“John? He’s managing.” It was a fair assessment. “Mother, there is something I need to tell you.”  
“Shh. I know. I know all about it. I’m thrilled. I love John. He’s a dear. But, to very honest, I’m a bit cross with you and Myc. Besides the fact that neither of you thought to tell me yourselves, I had to read about it in the paper in the middle of the market. And Mrs. Smythe, the loud one from down the lane was right behind me in the que. She had a lot to say on the subject. But I can get over being cross if you apologize. All I really care about is your happiness.”  
“I apologize that I didn’t think to call you.”  
“That’s good enough for now.” She said patting her son’s hand.  
“Are you….. appalled….. by the fact…..” he didn’t finish his question.  
“That my youngest, my boy, is in love with a man?” she asked. Sherlock nodded. “Oh sweetie. I’ve known for a lot longer than you that you might have a predilection for men. But what vexes me the most is the fact that I most likely will never be a grandmother.”  
“There is always the hope that Mycroft….” Sherlock said with a smile. His mother gave him a look before she began to laugh with him.  
“Are you happy?” She asked, her eyes were scanning his face for a lie.  
“More than I ever thought possible.” Sherlock said. Martha Holmes nodded at her son and pulled him in for a hug. He gave her a genuine one in return.  
**************************************

John walked down the hall with Ben Holmes, making small talk about the weather and the traffic. They each bought a cup of tea and found an empty table by a window that over looked a small garden.  
“I was terribly sorry to hear about your wife and daughter.” Ben said. John nodded, not trusting his voice at the moment.   
“Thank you.” John said after a moment.   
“So, you are living with Sherlock, again.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.  
“Yes. I needed someplace, well, else.”  
“I can understand that. But I can see there is something different. Something that was always there under the surface before. It’s more now.”  
“There is.”  
“You love him?”  
“I do.”  
“You’ll be good to him? I can see that in many ways you are. But I am the father here. I want to know that my children are loved and cared for, no matter how old they are.”  
“I swear with all my being, I will care for him as long as I am able.”  
“You have changed him.” It took John a minute to realize that Ben was smiling and not at all as unhappy as John had feared.  
“He has changed me too.” John said in a whisper.  
“You two are good for each other.” Ben said with a nod. He rose from the table and John followed. He bought another cup of tea for Sherlock. They returned to the room and Found Sherlock lounging on the chair listening with his eyes closed as his mother prattled on about something.  
John came around to the back of the chair and handed Sherlock his tea. Their fingers lingered on each others for a moment, and they shared a look.  
“Alright then?” John asked. Sherlock smiled a smile that filled his whole face. John nodded and turned to Martha. “Did he behave?”  
“You have some influence over him.” Martha said with a smile. “He was perfectly behaved. Even apologized for me finding out about your relationship in the papers and not from him. Now, if you could only do the same with Myc….”  
“And where is your brother?” John asked. Sherlock frowned a mock frown.   
“He said that he would be here tomorrow. He’s working on…. Something having to do with a file.” John understood and his stance shifted as he realized that he had forgotten the sword of Domiciles that was hanging over their heads.   
“Right. I had forgotten he mentioned it over dinner last night.”  
“You had dinner with him last evening? That’s wonderful.” Martha stated. Ben had found a chair and was working at a puzzle book. He grunted.   
“Yes, we see him often enough.” John said. Sherlock smirked. John rolled his eyes. “So, tell me, Martha, were they like this when they were children?”  
“Worse.” Martha said. “They were terrors. Sherlock was convinced that Mycroft hung the moon and the stars. And would do anything he asked. That’s how Sherlock broke his arm when he was five. Mycroft convinced him that he could fly. And he jumped off of the porch roof.” John blanched and Sherlock found his hand flying to John’s arm.  
“I was always doing things like that.” Sherlock said. “Mother, what has the doctor said?” Sherlock asked, not overly interested in the ramblings of the local town doctor, but wanting to change the subject and put the conversation in John’s wheel house.  
“They want to replace the hip. But since my heart isn’t the best and I take that one tablet, so I don’t clot on myself, we have to wait until I’m ready.” John nodded and Sherlock felt the muscles under his hand relax a bit.  
“Murmur?” John asked. “Or irregular rhythm?”  
“Rhythm.” Martha stated. “But I don’t truly understand what all the fuss is about.”  
John took the time to explain to her what the irregularities meant and what the consequences of not following the proper procedures could mean. Sherlock had seen John act as a doctor and knew his skill first hand as the stitches in his side were a reminder. But he had never truly seen John’s bedside manner. It was loving and careful. Informative, but not overly technical. John never ceased to amaze him.  
************************************

Martha’s nurse came in an hour later, asking the family to leave so that they could help her with some care and Sherlock gave John a look. They walked out to the front of the hospital with Ben. Ben sighed and turned to his son and his partner.  
“I swear to all that is holy Sherlock, if you tell your mother what I am about to do, you will not have to wait for death to take you. I will deliver you there myself.” Sherlock nodded. John speculated that Ben was not a man who was easily angered but once he was, you did not want to be on the receiving end of his wrath. Ben pulled out a pack of cigarettes and took one on his lips. He lit it and drew it in deep.  
“Dad.” Sherlock said. John had never heard him call him that let alone refer to him in such a tender way. Ben smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “Give us one then.” Ben obliged and held the lighter for his son. John sighed.  
“Stress.” Ben said with a shrug.  
“I am learning a lot about the Holmes men this week.” John said. Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
“John, would you talk to the doctor for me please?” Ben asked. “Mycroft assured us he is the best, but I’m a little afraid that the idea of a hip replacement might be too much. After all, can’t they just repair what’s there?”  
“Anything.” John answered. Ben gave him the doctor’s name and sent John on his way while he finished his fag with his son.  
“Dad, you aren’t worried about Mummy in the least are you?” Sherlock asked. “John is smart. He will figure out that you wanted to talk to me alone.”  
“Leave it to my genius son to not see the obvious. Yes, I wanted a minute alone with you. But, I also saw that John is stressed. He is still grieving. He was upset when your mother told him the story of how you broke your arm. He’s not completely over the…. Incident. He needed a distraction. To feel useful.”  
“You saw.” Sherlock said. His mother was a mathematics genius and very sharp. But the deductive skills that both Mycroft and Sherlock shared was a trait that came from their father.  
“Yes. I’m not as daft as you think I am. You are happy?”  
“Very.”  
“Good. Marry him. When he is ready. Be happy for the rest of your life.”  
“I plan on it.”  
“But be careful. He’s more fragile than you know.”  
“I know. Trust me. I know.” The shared a hug and went back to find John. John met them in the family room and filled them in on his conversation with the doctor.   
***************************************

“So, all in all, replacement is the best option. It’s safe.”  
“Thank you John. I always wanted a doctor in the family. Now I guess we have one.” John smiled and held onto Sherlock’s hand.   
***************************************

Sherlock and John spent a pleasant afternoon with his parents, parting ways when Martha tired, letting Mycroft’s car take them to a local bed and breakfast to check in for the night.  
“Surgery is scheduled for nine tomorrow. They said you could see her at eight.” Sherlock nodded as he put his bag on the dresser in the room.   
They went down to the dining room to have a bit of supper before deciding to walk around town for a while to stretch out muscles that had grown tight for a day of sitting. Sherlock checked in with Mycroft by phone and there was nothing more to report. Sherlock let out a long breath of frustration. They were so close yet so far away. John was watching the comings and goings of the people on the street. It was a smallish village and a week night. It was a cold evening, but spring was in the air.  
“Did you and Mycroft grow up here?” John asked as Sherlock as they stopped to window shop.  
“No. This was where my father’s family is from. They retired here after father retired.”  
“I know your mother gave up her career for children, but what did your father do?” John asked, his knowledge of the years before he met Sherlock sketchy at best.  
“My father managed a rather sizable financial firm.”  
“So, both of them are good at numbers.” John said. Sherlock nodded. They sat down on a bench and Sherlock sighed.  
“I know. I want this over now too.” John said and ran his hand down Sherlock’s arm. He rested his hand on Sherlock’s and he felt the phone in Sherlock’s pocket vibrate.  
Sherlock pulled out his phone and looked at the text.  
“Why aren’t you out looking for my drive?” Sherlock gripped the phone tight in his hand. He sent off a text with rapid fire and precision.  
“If you know we are not looking for it then you know why.-SH” John got up from the bench and paced in front of Sherlock.  
“Send Mycroft a text. Let him know what is going on.” Sherlock instructed John. John pulled out his own phone and did just that.  
“I hope Mummy is feeling better soon. So nice of you to bring her the lilies.” Sherlock’s eyes got wide. King was either there or had been. Sherlock seethed in anger.  
“Mycroft said that he is trying to track the number. He’ll be here in about two hours.” Sherlock sent another text.  
“My parents have nothing to do with this. This is between us.-SH”  
“Then maybe Mary should have kept family out of it.” John saw the text and blanched. King knew that someone on the list was not only his brother’s killer, but possibly Mary’ relation.  
“The bastard.” John spit. Sherlock got up and was talking rapidly on his phone while he was almost running back to the inn. John heard words like security, division and protection. Lestrade. He was trying to see what Greg could do to help protect his parents. Not Mycroft’s under cover protection. Full on protection of a uniform is what he was after. John raced a bit to keep up with Sherlock and met him on the porch of the inn. Sherlock was pacing and continuing to rant into the phone. John’s mobile went off in his hand and he looked at the text message.  
“Please tell my brother that I will have a uniformed squad at the hospital in ten minutes. And there will be a unit stationed at our parents’ home. They will both be safe.- MH”  
“Sherlock.” John said. Sherlock ignored him. John stood up a bit straighter and out his hand out for Sherlock to stop stalking. He did. John gently grabbed his phone from his hand and spoke into the device. “Greg, it’s all under control. Please excuse my very upset boyfriend. We’ll talk when we come home. Have a good evening.”  
“Thanks.” Greg said. John hung up the phone, handing his own to Sherlock to read the text from Mycroft. Sherlock settled a bit, but he was still visibly upset.  
“Now, love, come inside. Let’s go up to our room. Take a hot shower and since you were so well behaved today, let me keep my promise.” Sherlock looked at John, weighing his options. He gave a simple nod and went into the house and up to their room.  
Sherlock stepped into the shower and John picked up his mobile. He sent off a text and turned off the ringer on both phones for the night.  
“Sherlock is calmer, but we will not met you tonight. He needs some sleep. We will see you for breakfast before we return to the hospital. I hope you have more information at that time. Please do not disturb us unless you have emergent information.- JW” A text reply came quickly.  
“Understood.-MH”

************************

John and Sherlock were dressed and bleary eyed as they quietly descended the stairs to the dining room. It was almost empty, save for the staff that was still preparing for their guests. It was early in the morning. Mycroft sat at a table and was reading the morning paper. He looked like he normally did, shirt, tie, waist coat and pocket watch. But Sherlock noticed the reddened eyes and slight slump to his shoulders that screamed of lack of sleep. Mycroft had been neglecting his own health.  
“Morning.” John said with a slight yawn. Sherlock was more relaxed than he had been the night before. John helped his work his anger out in a physical way but they both slept restlessly. John poured coffee for both of them. Sherlock added his cream and drank deeply. Mycroft put down his paper and nodded. There wasn’t going to be much conversation until there was caffeine flowing in the blood.  
Sherlock was pouring his second cup of coffee when he watched Mycroft absently stirring his. “What is it?” Sherlock asked without pretext or salutation.  
“What?” Mycroft asked, snapping back to the present. “Oh, well, we think we might have a lead. But it’s not exactly what we thought.”  
“What the hell does that mean?” John asked.  
“We have narrowed the list down to five men that could be a fit for Mary’s brother. But two are dead, one is currently in a holding cell in Moscow and one is completely off the radar, thought to be dead.”  
“And the fifth?” John asked.  
“That’s the dilemma. He’s a ghost.”  
“A ghost? There are no such things. Everyone has a foot print.” Sherlock said. Mycroft looked at his watch and got up from the table.   
“Yes, well, we will revisit this topic soon. We need to go now.” John stood up and drained the last of his coffee. Sherlock sat for a moment and John put his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder.  
“Come on.” He said gently. Sherlock rose from the table and Mycroft pulled on his suit jacket of brown tweed and his overcoat.   
“My men will get the bags and check you out. I need to return to London this evening and conduct some business. After we see to mother, we will discuss this further.” John nodded and Sherlock seemed anxious. The climbed into Mycroft’s waiting black car and sped through the sleepy sea side town.  
*******************************  
Ben sat in the corner of the family room, filling out his puzzle book, not paying any mind to his sons or John as they huddled in the corner, speaking in low voices.  
“So, tell us what you know.” Sherlock said. Mycroft took in a deep breath.  
“We found a name. Under a lot of layer. But to be honest it’s a name that I did not expect to find on this list. It’s a name that I never thought I would find under layers….” Sherlock cut him off.  
“What is the bloody name?” His voice was tight with anger and frustration.  
“Sebastian Moran.” John felt his whole body go rigid. Sherlock’s mouth fell a little Mycroft’s eyes flashed fear for a moment as he let the words escape his mouth. John was the first to speak. And when he did his voice was low and thick.  
“My fucking brother in law was Moriarty’s right hand. And he is on a list of person’s in deep cover.” Mycroft gave a slight nod. “Fucking fantastic.” John rose from his seat and left the room. Ben Holmes looked up at his sons and continued with his book. Sherlock put his hands together against his lips and adapted his thinking pose. Mycroft crossed his legs at the knee and sat back in his chair.  
“Do we know where he is currently?” Sherlock asked.  
“We can’t find him.” Mycroft admitted. He hated not knowing things. “My people are looking.”  
“If his name is on that list, how many more…..” Sherlock let the thought hang in the air.  
“I know.” Mycroft said. Sherlock had spent two years taking down the spider web network that Moriarty had assembled. But he had never been able to find Moran. Sherlock thought again. John returned to the room a while later, his cheeks red from the cold and he was carrying a paper tray of tea cups. He handed one to Mr. Holmes and one to Mycroft. He gave Sherlock one and Sherlock turned to see that John had returned.  
John shrugged his shoulders at Sherlock’s questioning look and John sat down in the chair with a heavy thump. They sat for an hour, no one speaking. A young pretty nurse came into the room and carried a clip board. She could feel the tension in the room.  
“Is there a Mr. Holmes here?” she asked. Ben, rose and she came to speak to him.  
“I’m Ben Holmes.” He said. The nurse looked at her paperwork.   
“Mr. Holmes, your wife is in the recovery unit. The surgery went well. You will be able to see her in a moment. She is awake and resting. Is there anyone with you?” she asked. Mycroft and Sherlock stood and joined their father.  
“My sons and my son in law.” John blushed at the description. Only family would be allowed in. And John guessed that Ben wanted John’s medical eyes to tell him what the staff might be holding back.   
“Fine, Good.” The nurse said. She led them down a hallway and John lagged behind the Holmes men. Walking down the brightly lit hallway, three abreast, it was a breath taking sight. All three of them were close in height. Three of the most powerful men he knew. Ben was a strong father, Mycroft was the British Government and Sherlock. John warmed as he thought of Sherlock as his. When they reached the door to the unit, Ben followed Mycroft in and Sherlock hung back a bit. He grabbed John’s hand and laced his fingers through it. Sherlock looked at John and he saw a bit of fear mixed with anxiety and vulnerability there. John patted Sherlock’s arm.  
“All right then?” he asked. Sherlock smiled.  
“As long as we are together.” John pulled Sherlock through the door and to his mother’s bedside.


	25. Spider Webs and Pasta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out to dinner with Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock being ... human

Chapter 25- Spider Webs and Pasta  
The ride back to London was quiet. Each man was lost in their own thoughts. John and Sherlock arrived back to 221B Baker Street without expressing a word to Mycroft. John went up to his room and unpacked his bag. Sherlock took off his coat, lay down on the sofa and put on what John internally thought of his thinking face. John sat on the edge of the bed. He put his head in his hand and tried to rub away the headache that was forming behind his eyes. He felt as if they had been through a minor skirmish waiting for the battle to come. He was unsure if Mary hadn’t sought him out because of his connection to Moriarty. And if her brother was Moran, what kind of threat could King really be.  
Mrs. Hudson’s sing song voice was heard on the landing. John slowly came down the stairs. He heard Sherlock’s baritone speaking low to their landlady. John went into the kitchen and started to make a pot of tea.  
“John, leave the tea.” Sherlock called. He came to the doorway between the two rooms and saw that Mrs. Hudson was smiling with a smile that was broad and wide.   
“Mrs. Hudson, something you want to tell us?” John asked.  
“Oh, well, John, I was just telling Sherlock that I had company while you were gone. I met a lovely man, an American. He rang the bell. He said he was looking for you. I thought he was a client, but he said he was a friend of Mary’s. Well, we got to talking and he took me for dinner. Such a lovely time.” John met Sherlock’s gaze. Giacomo King. It had to be.  
“Sounds like you had a lovely time.” John said, struggling to keep his voice even. Sherlock noted the fist clenched at his side. John felt Sherlock’s teal gaze upon in and he forced his hand open. Sherlock gave him an imperceptible nod.  
John returned to the kitchen and finished the tea, as the kettle had boiled. He brought out the cups and after handing one to Mrs. Hudson sat down with Sherlock on the sofa.  
“So, I have a date to meet him again tomorrow for dinner. And he wanted to see you both. So, I am here to ask if you will join me for supper tomorrow.” John stiffened at the request and Sherlock sucked in a breath. Neither spoke for a moment. “I understand that if you have a case or something….” Mrs. Hudson stated, trying not to sound disappointed.  
“I will have to check.” John answered. His mind was whirling. “I’ll come down later and let you know.”  
“That would be lovely.” Mrs. Hudson said, her previous enthusiasm returning. She took her tea cup into the kitchen and went back to her flat. John got up from the sofa suddenly and stalked around the room.  
“Of all the bloody nerve. Mrs. Hudson!” he seethed under his breath. John turned to see Sherlock on his phone texting rapidly. “We can’t let her see him again.”  
“Obviously.” Sherlock snapped. He was as frustrated as John, but he wasn’t moving. That worried John.  
“What’s the plan then?” Sherlock was silent. “Sherlock?” There was no response. Sherlock got up from the sofa and went to the desk to pull out his laptop. John sunk into his chair. Sherlock was in full work mode and there was nothing John could do but wait.  
*******************************************

Being a solider and a doctor had taught John patience. He was able to stand or sit and wait for things to happen. He decided to think about all the things he had learned about his wife. But it was such a tangle that John couldn’t see the entire pattern.  
“Spider webs.” John muttered. Sherlock’s fingers stopped on the keys and he looked at John.  
“What did you say?”  
“Hmm? I don’t know. I was thinking.”  
“You said spider webs.”  
“Maybe.”  
“What were you thinking?”  
“I was trying to process everything.” John said. Sherlock’s gaze was fully on John now. The spell of silence was broken.  
“But what made you say spider webs?”  
“I don’t know.” John scrubbed his hand over his eyes. A full headache was sitting there now, and he felt weary. Not just tired but weary.  
“Because it’s very accurate.” Sherlock answered. “Seems you are learning how to deduce.” Sherlock almost seemed proud of this fact.  
“Hmm.” John answered. He looked at the clock on the wall. It was nearing dinner time, but he wasn’t hungry. He got up from his chair and went upstairs to his room. He lay down on the bed, in the half light of the fading evening. He listened and heard Sherlock moving around the flat. He closed his eyes in an attempt to bring the throbbing pain to an end. He must have fallen asleep because he opened his eyes at a dip of the mattress and it was fully dark in the room.  
“Sherlock?” John asked, his voice thick from nonuse.  
“Who else?” he asked. Sherlock slid beneath the duvet and curled onto his side facing the door. John got up, stripped off his clothes and pulled back the bedclothes. He crawled into the bed and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. John listened to Sherlock’s breathing and matched his breaths with his.  
“Are you okay?” Sherlock asked, his voice barely a whisper.  
“A bit not good.” John answered. He felt Sherlock shift in the dark and the pressure of his finger tips on the side of his face.  
“What do you need?” he asked John.  
“To figure this out. To make it all end.”  
“I’m trying.” Sherlock sighed in the dark. John shifted to his side and let Sherlock’s long arms wrap around him.  
“I know, love. I know.” Sherlock nuzzled the back of John’s head with his face, planting small kisses in his hair.  
“Thank you.” Sherlock said as John was nearly asleep.  
“For what?”  
“For coming with me. For making me deal with my parents.” John stroked Sherlock’s hand that was resting on his belly.  
“For you, anything.” Sherlock settled in to a regular breathing pattern and John knew he was asleep.   
****************************************  
John waited a few minutes and got up from the bed. He went to the sitting room and sat down in his chair. He took out his lap top and began a document. His therapist was correct. Writing helped him sort things out. After three hours of typing, deleting and retyping it was much clearer in his head. He climbed in the warm bed and noted that Sherlock had taken one of his pillows in his arms when John wasn’t there to hold. John settled back on the mattress and let sleep over take him.  
“John!” yelled Sherlock’s voice from the landing. “Come here please.” John struggled to open his tired eyes. He slept fitfully during the night, Mary and Moran coming to him in dreams, taunting him. He shook off the grogginess and padded to the top of the stairs.  
“What?” he asked as he passed the kitchen on his way to the bathroom.  
“I want to ask you something.” John waved his hand on his way into the loo. After he was finished, he found Sherlock standing outside the door, his arms crossed and his foot tapping with impatience.  
“What is so bloody important?” John asked. His humor was not good and Sherlock turned on his heel and stalked into the kitchen. John sighed. It was going to be a long day.  
“I found the drive.” Sherlock said. John stopped and stared.  
“Where?”  
“In your wardrobe.”   
“In my…. What? Wait….” Sherlock passed the drive across the table at John. “When? How?” There were too many questions forming in his head. He sat down on the stool and Sherlock leaned against the counter.  
“This morning, I went to place the silver rattle back into the box in your wardrobe. I thought I was doing something right. But I shifted a few things, wanting to put it on the bottom of the box. That when I saw this.” Sherlock handed John the picture frame containing the sonogram picture of Jane. It was broken in his hand.  
“I dropped it the other night.” John said. Sherlock nodded. He knew that.  
“But there was something taped to the inside.”  
“The drive.” John sighed. He had missed it. Sherlock hadn’t. “Were you able to see if the information on the drive is the same as what is encoded in the letters?”  
“It is.”  
“Now, what?”  
“Assuming that King’s memory of what is on the drive is faulty, I have erased it. Mycroft’s people are working on sending over a modified copy of the information. With a tracer. So that when it’s accessed we can find …..”  
“We can find Moran and take down the spider.” John finished.  
“Yes.” John didn’t say anything for a few moments.   
“We are going to dinner tonight, aren’t we?” John asked. Sherlock nodded his head and went into his bedroom. John was left in the kitchen the golden drive in one hand and a picture of Jane in the other. He left the drive on the table and went back to his room.

*************************************************

John lay down on the bed, and put his hand on the bed. It still held the picture. He let the tears fall from his eyes. He cried for his daughter. He imagined her blonde hair in pig tails, flying in the wind as he pushed her on the swing in a local park. He turned and sobbed into his pillow. He thought about the parent teacher meetings he would miss. He thought about buying her a dress for her formals at schools and her birthday parties. Sweeties he would sneak her when Mary wasn’t looking. And now, none of that was going to happen. Because of choices Mary made years before to protect her brother. To protect the right hand of the man who made Sherlock jump. Everything in his life was related. It was a big spider web that was designed to trap him. To trap him into a false sense of security. He let the tears come until there were no more. He breathed in and out, deeply enough to calm his nerves and got up from the bed. There would be no more wallowing until this was done.   
John put the picture back into the box, shut the lid and closed the door. He stood up and went down the stairs to find a drink and replace the liquid he lost from crying.  
John set the kettle to boil when he heard Sherlock come out of his room. John kept his head down and went about making tea, adding another cup to the one he pulled out of the cupboard. Sherlock went to pick up his violin. He pulled his bow across the strings and began to play. He chose something melancholy and sad. John put a cup of tea on the edge of the table next to Sherlock’s chair and settled into his own. He sipped the scalding hot liquid as Sherlock finished his playing. Sherlock put his violin down and stared out the window.  
“We are meeting at Angelo’s at seven for dinner.” Sherlock said, finally breaking the silence.  
“Fine.” John said.  
“The drive is ready.”  
“Fine.”  
“Are you going to say anything that has more than one syllable this evening?” Sherlock asked. He turned to John and looked at the man sitting across the room from him.  
“No.” John was clearly upset and he wanted to be left alone for a while. He wanted Sherlock to figure out why he was upset and he wanted to be held by the man. John was tormented by his emotions. He didn’t know which way to turn.  
“John…” Sherlock said nothing else. John got up, rinsed out his tea cup and went to the bathroom. He was sure that a shower would make him feel a bit better. He stripped down his clothes and stepped under the hot water. He stood letting the water run over his compact body. He turned off the water after some time and wrapped himself in a towel. He went up to his room to dress.

***************************************************

Sherlock was sitting on the sofa, playing with something on his phone when John returned. Sherlock was dressed in his normal outfit of a suit and button down without a tie. John opted for brown pants and a button down himself. He flopped onto the sofa next to Sherlock.  
“Is your humor better?” Sherlock asked, his voice acidic as he hide his fear and anger.  
“A bit.”  
“I’m sorry.” Sherlock said. He wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for, but he knew that the words made John feel better.  
“For what?” John asked. He turned to look at Sherlock.  
“I… for…” Sherlock stopped and let out a breath. “I honestly don’t know.”  
“Do you think that you did something wrong and that is why I’m upset today?” John asked, almost like he was asking a child.  
“Yes.” Sherlock was quiet in his response. “I am usually the cause of your bad humor.”  
“No, Sherlock, you are not. I get pissed with you. You are a twit at times. But you are you. I love you. I’m not mad at you today. I’m angry with the …. With….” John couldn’t find the right single word for all the things he was mad at. “I’m mad with everything out there.” His hand waved at the general direction of the windows. “And I’m not quite sure that giving King the drive will be the end of this.” Sherlock nodded and looked a bit more relaxed.  
“I know how you feel.” Sherlock said. “But it’s the best option.”  
“I know. And I’m sorry if you felt I was mad at you. I’m not.” John leaned in and put his head on Sherlock’s shoulder. He felt Sherlock’s arm come around and pull him closer.  
“Do you want to talk about….” John cut him off.  
“No.” John took a breath. “No, I don’t. At least not now.” He said at a more reasonable tone.  
“Okay.” Sherlock looked at his watch and kissed John on the top of his head before rising and grabbing his coat. John followed and they met Mrs. Hudson in the front vestibule. 

*************************************************

Angelo sat them at their favorite table and John found his knee bouncing up and down as they waited for Giacomo King to arrive. He was five minutes late. Mrs. Hudson was completely charmed by the smarmy American.  
“John, Sherlock, so good to see you again.” King said, playing on the pretense they were friends.  
“Giacomo.” Sherlock said, trying not to expose his hand.  
“I assume we will be able to conduct our business and I will be on my way.” King said. Mrs. Hudson looked disappointed.  
“You won’t be joining us for dinner?” Mrs. Hudson asked.   
“I’m sorry, I cannot. My employer is calling me back to New York. But I need what I came to London for before I can leave.” Sherlock nodded and reached his hand into his coat pocket. He extracted the drive and pushed it across the table to King.  
“I hope this means we are through.” John said, his teeth clenched.  
“I am though with you. King answered. “I knew that you would find it.”  
“Get out.” Sherlock said. King nodded and stood.   
“Thank you. I hope this will bring my family some peace.” King said before leaving. It was in that moment that John knew that King was never really a threat. That the information that was on the original drive was only glimpsed and guessed at. That he didn’t know what Sherlock and John knew.  
“I know who did it.” Sherlock said as King passed him. King stopped and looked at him.  
“It doesn’t matter. I do too. And I will find him and I will seek my revenge.” King left the bistro and John looked at Sherlock.  
“Something changed his mind.” John said. Sherlock nodded.  
“Someone.” He corrected. Sherlock allowed Angelo to swoop in before him and put down a plate of pasta. John could see that the wheels were turning behind Sherlock’s eyes. He nudged his arm, listen to Mrs. Hudson prattling on about the portion size, King’s rudeness and anything else she needed to say to fill the quiet. She didn’t understand it like John did. John leaned into Sherlock’s ear.  
“Eat half, please. Make her happy. And I promise, I’ll help work it off later.” Sherlock snapped back to the table and gave John a half smile. But he did as he was asked and ate some pasta. They walked home from the restaurant and Mrs. Hudson gave them each a kiss on their cheeks before retiring to her flat. John and Sherlock walked up to their sitting room and John put his gun on the table before sitting in his chair. Sherlock stood at the window, watching for something or someone that never did come that night.


	26. Mapping it All Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have a conversation.

Chapter 26- Mapping it all Out

John and Sherlock slept in the same bed that night, but they didn’t sleep together. They moved around each other like ghosts, not really touching or speaking to each other. John read the paper and Sherlock tapped on his lap top. They ate in silence and Mrs. Hudson came up with the post. She took one look at the two of them and instantly frowned. She left the flat as quickly as she came and neither man noticed that she had been there.  
After several hours, Sherlock got up from his desk and stalked into his bedroom and slammed the door shut. John jumped at the noise and grabbed his coat and keys, slamming the door to the flat on his way out. He had no real plan, only that he needed to get out and get some air. He pulled out his phone and checked the time. He decided it was late enough and sent off a rapid text.  
“Pint?-JW”  
“Sure. Cock and Bull in twenty?-GL”  
“Cheers.-JW” He hailed a cab and gave the driver the address for the pub near New Scotland Yard. When Lestrade came into the room ten minutes later than he said, John was nursing a pint of lager at the bar.  
“John. How are you mate?” Greg asked, slapping him on the back and ordering his own pint. John didn’t answer and when Greg got a good look at him, he noticed that he wasn’t fine. “What’s going on? Did you and Sherlock have a fight?”  
“No. But I think it would be easier if we had.”  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Greg took a healthy drink from his glass and sat down. John sighed.  
“There is a lot to process. We found the drive. We altered it. We gave it to King. And we both think that he’s gone for good. But he was never the threat. Underneath it all,” John sighed again. “That we believe that Mary has a brother and she took the list to protect him.”  
“A brother.”  
“Yes. And to top it all off, my brother in law is…”  
“Who?”  
“It’s a bit not good.” John said as he raised his pint and finished it in one go. Greg watched and waited for John to finish his story.  
“How not good?”  
“Moran.” John said. He cleared his throat and while ordering another pint, said stronger “Sebastian Moran is my brother in law.” Greg nearly spit the mouth full of beer he had taken out.  
“You are fucking having me on.” He said. But he knew from John’s face that he was not.  
“I know.” John said.  
“And that is what has you… I’m not sure exactly what.”  
“Sherlock and I aren’t speaking. Haven’t since dinner last night. I’ve been pissed off, upset and he just retreated into his own world. Inside that bloody brilliant head of his. And he hasn’t even noticed why I am upset.” John rambled. Greg laughed a bit and John looked at him with daggers in his eyes.  
“I’m sorry mate. But it is funny. You are upset. I get that. But listening to you…. I can only imagine what Sherlock is thinking.”  
“He tried to apologize yesterday afternoon. Thinking if he told me he was sorry for whatever he did, that it would make it all alright.” John said. Greg smiled and laughed into his pint.  
“I’m sorry mate. He’s trying but he doesn’t understand empathy. He doesn’t get how to make you feel better.” John smiled a bit. Greg understood the dilemma. “What did he say when you left to meet me?”  
“I didn’t tell him I was leaving I just left.” John stopped and looked at the bar. “Bloody hell. Only I could attract a flat mate that is a sociopath, marry a woman who was a long term assassin and find out his brother in law was the right hand of the most evil man in England.” John sniggered a bit and Greg joined him. They were laughing before long.  
“Give it a catchy title and it could be a night time drama. Might beat out Downton Abbey in the ratings.” Greg laughed.  
“Plenty of drama. And a leading man who is handsome and a right git.” John laughed. Greg laughed too and John felt better. John lifted his glass and looked at Greg. “Thank you. I needed that.” He said as he wiped away the tears that had collected at the corners of his eyes.  
“No trouble mate.” Greg ordered another pint. “What do you think he’s doing right now?”  
“God knows. He was locked in his room when I left.”  
“His room?” Greg questioned. “I assumed…” John smirked.  
“Yes and no. He still keeps his room. At my instance for now. For days like this. When we need space.” Greg nodded. “Although, sometimes I think I would need my own country…” Greg smirked.  
“Sometimes I don’t think I could stand to be in the same world. But then he opens his ruddy mouth and something brilliant comes out and my cases go up. Or I see the way he looks at you when no one else is around. I have to admit John I was very worried about telling him first about Mary. I wasn’t sure he was going to be as sensitive about your feelings as he was.” John nodded.  
“I knew something was wrong the minute he called you Greg that day.”  
“I almost dropped the phone at that.” Greg admitted. “But after you passed out, I was impressed with him. I had never noticed at that point how much he really did care for you. It was after that, that I saw that he did.”  
“Mycroft is convinced that I changed him.”  
“You did. In the years that I have worked with Sherlock, before you two met, I nearly killed him on three separate occasions, almost punched him seven and could have had him arrested nine. But since then, the numbers have declined. And then there is the changes since…”  
John sighed again. He had a desire to go back to Baker Street. He glanced at his watch.  
“Go on mate. It was good to see you. Another night. I’ll speak to you soon.” Greg slapped John on the shoulder and John drained his pint.   
“Thanks, Greg.” John said and walked out of the pub.

************************************************

John opened the door to the flat and came up the seventeen stairs to the first landing. He hung up his coat and went to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. Sherlock’s door was still shut and he noted that his coat and keys were still in the flat. John busied himself with the kettle and the cup when he heard the door to Sherlock’s room open with a creek. John smiled a bit and pretended he didn’t hear it.  
Sherlock’s bare feet made their way to the kitchen. He saw John making tea and after a moment he bounded across the room and nearly tackled John as he wrapped his arms around him.  
“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.” Sherlock muttered into John’s neck. John spun around in his arms and put his hands on Sherlock’s arms.  
“What for love? What did you do?”  
“I don’t know what I did. I’m just sorry that I upset you.” John noted that his neck was wet and it took a moment for him to realize that Sherlock was crying. John pushed him away and looked at him.  
“Sherlock, I am not mad at you. You did nothing wrong. I’m the one who should be apologizing for being an arse the last couple of days.”  
“I was worried that you had enough and you left. Promise me John. That you won’t leave me.”  
“That’s rich.” John said with a smirk. Sherlock’s face blanched. “I won’t leave.” John said tenderly.  
“Good.” Sherlock said. He nuzzled his face back into John’s neck and John pulled him tightly against him. He shook his head as he allowed his boyfriend to regain his composure and get over his insecurity.  
John finished making tea and pulled Sherlock along to bed. They settled down on the bed and John let Sherlock’s head settle on his shoulder. He stroked the raven curls as Sherlock sipped his tea in bed.  
“Where did you go?” Sherlock asked when he felt better.  
“For a walk. I met up with Lestrade for a pint.”  
“Oh.” Sherlock sipped his tea in silence again. John put his down on the bedside table and sighed. “You want to talk?”  
“Yes and no.” John said. Sherlock nodded and said nothing. “Not tonight. Let’s just go to sleep. Maybe in the morning we can discuss it.” Sherlock shifted to put his tea on the table and lay down on his side to face John. John turned off the light and lay down the same way.  
“I love you.” Sherlock said. “I hate that you are hurting and I don’t know how to fix it.”  
“I love you too. And we will fix it. Together.” John said. John put his hand on the side of Sherlock’s face and he leaned into it. John found his lips and kissed him. At first it was nice, loving and with John opening his mouth just a bit, Sherlock’s tongue found its way inside. They kissed for several minutes, both breaking away breathless. Sherlock ran his fingers along John’s jaw line and rested them on his cheek. John closed his eyes and their breathing slowed. The fell asleep, tangled in each other’s arms and legs.

**************************************************

Sherlock awoke because he was cold. John, ever the pragmatist, kept the flat on the colder side. Sherlock wore layers, jackets or dressing gowns and John wore jumpers. But it wasn’t cold from the lack of heating in the room, it was the absence of John and his heat that woke Sherlock. He reached out and found the sheets had been cold for some time. John had gotten up earlier. Sherlock pulled his dressing gown on and wandered downstairs to find John sitting in his chair. A cup of cold tea sat next to him on the table and the rays of the sun were just reaching the second floor window. Sherlock curled up in his chair and looked at John. John’s left hand was sitting flat on his knee. He was tense and upset and trying to control it.  
“I’ve been thinking over everything. All the things you have said to me over the years. About my craving danger. I’ve been reliving every moment with Mary. Thinking about all the Mycroft put into her file. About the cabbie. About Moriarty and Magnesson. About family. But at this point I can’t see straight. “  
“John.” Sherlock said. John held up his right hand. He wanted to spill out all the words without interruption.  
“I do love danger. I love the adrenaline rush. I love the way it makes me feel. Alive. And in some ways, it’s what initially attracted me to you. I love the game. I love the work. I love seeing your mind work. Seeing things others miss. But I also love the way you can’t interact with people. Letting me help you figure out the different aspects of human nature. In a way we became codependent on each other. You brought me out into the field and then used me to filter for you. I never expected to fall in love with you.” John took a breath and a sip of cold tea.  
“When you died, I did too. I was a mess. But then there was Mary. And I have been thinking back about the way she found me. The way she sought me out. I was so lost in my grief for you I missed things. I never saw the way she knew things about me and about you. I figured she was a fan of the blog. There were so many alarm flags, I should have seen them. She knew who and what Moran was. She knew. And I think at low moments, she almost told me. But she didn’t. She found the restraint.  
“What’s got me so vexed is my own stupidity. That I didn’t see what I should have. That there were things that I missed. I worked with you. I can see things too. But I didn’t. And King is off the table. A minor player in the end. But Moran is still out there. And I’m not quite sure how to deal with it. Is his name on that list because underneath all the layers of cover, he’s a good guy? That he was only in it with Moriarty to keep him from bombing the Queen? Or was he so jaded from years of cover that he went with Moriarty willingly? Did he fall under his spell? Was my wife trying to protect me?” John paused. He let out a deep breath.  
“I’m tired of watching over my shoulder. I’m angry with Mary. She wasn’t ‘inactive’. She just changed the way the game was being played. She used me. And Jane was part of the cover. And what would have happened in three years, ten years or directly after Jane was born? Would Mary have left me to be a single parent? In some ways it’s a blessing that she went the way she did. It’s final. And I know that she is dead. Not like you.”  
Sherlock has sat up in his chair and was watching John with trepidation. John licked his lips. “I am scared. I am scared for you and for me. I don’t know what’s coming next. I don’t know how big this web is and I’m worried that someone one day will tear us apart. I don’t want to lose anyone else.” John’s cheeks were wet with tears. Sherlock came and knelt down in front of John and wiped the salty streaks with the pad of his thumb.  
“John.” He said. “Oh, John.” Sherlock pulled John into an embrace.   
“I feel so guilty for missing it. For letting myself get pulled into a relationship only to fix the broken heart you left me with.”   
“Guilty?” Sherlock asked. “Why guilt?”  
“Jane. She was innocent. She was going to be born into a lie. A lie where either one of her parents could not come home one night because of foolish choices. Guilty because…. I… I…” John couldn’t finish the statement. Sherlock held him for a moment.  
“Why…”  
“I betrayed you. I married her when we should have been together.” John said. Sherlock felt his own tears spilling down his face.  
“No. Don’t do this.” He said to John. “I love you. And I will love you until the end of time. There will be no guilt. No. We are together now and that is what matters. And together we will figure this out.”  
John sat with Sherlock’s arms around him for quite some time. The tears dried and Sherlock felt the burden that John had been carrying for weeks in his heart. John pulled back a bit and Sherlock stood to sit on the arm of the chair. John looked a bit lighter and Sherlock let John’s head rest against his side.  
“We need to take those stitches out.” John said. Sherlock nodded. John needed something to do at the moment and Sherlock hated the way the threads felt against his skin. John gathered his supplies and Sherlock went into the kitchen where he sat on the table and took off his dressing gown and tee shirt. John set the kettle to boil and made quick work at Sherlock’s side. It stung for the moment, but he could tolerate the pain. John made them each a cup of tea and sat on the stool in the kitchen.  
“So, now what?” John asked. Sherlock reached his hand across the table and grabbed John’s in his.  
“I don’t know.”  
“Does anyone know where Moran is?” John was referring to Mycroft.  
“No. He’s a ghost. But having several layers of alias is helping. In time.”  
“So, we wait.”   
“We live.” Sherlock said. John nodded.


	27. M&M's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn a bit about Mycroft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOOO! I am getting excited. This piece of fanfic has totally changed the way I write. Normally, things are so planned out so micromanaged. This is so different. Maybe because the characters are established. Maybe because I have the refferance points of 221B Baker Street, cannon, head cannon.... you know the list goes on and on. But here even I don't know where this is headed. And in the next chapter (28) and (29) something happened that I didn't expect. As it unfurled itself from my finger tips, I was amazed. I was reading it for the first time. But we need background first. And here it begins.  
> Thanks for all the great support and comments. Keep them

Chapter 27- M&M’s

Mycroft was older than Sherlock by seven years, eighty two days, five hours and thirty one minutes. But he wasn’t counting. Sherlock had things in his life that Mycroft did not. He had friends. He had people who looked out for him and he had love. Not the kind of love that comes between siblings, children or parents. He had real love. Love between two people. He had John.  
Mycroft was not the jealous type. Far from it. He was practical to a fault. Having someone at home waiting for him was not a solution in a job that demanded all his time and attention and what little time and attention he had otherwise was devoted to watching out for his brother. Keeping him safe and alive. But since John had moved in to Baker Street, Mycroft found he had more time on his hands. He worked longer, but some nights he came home and sat watching the fire roar and with a brandy in his hand. He was able to turn his mind off and relax.  
Mycroft loved his brother. He really did. They were raised together, from the same parents. They were smart. But Mycroft was smarter. He excelled in school. He raised little problem. A model student. But he knew how to be a leader and that alone kept him from being bullied. Sherlock was harder to control. His mind so smart that he became bored at a moment’s notice. Mycroft could entertain himself inside his head for hours.  
But then there was John. Good, sturdy John. A man who cared for Sherlock in ways that Mycroft couldn’t. He helped ground him and against better judgment, Mycroft found himself liking John and wanting to spend time with him. John was solid and sturdy, like a rock. A rock in the ever changing river that was Sherlock.   
After Sherlock died, Mycroft found himself at a loss. He tried to keep tabs on his brother, but it was difficult. He flitted from place to place, not staying long enough to make an impression. And Mycroft was good at finding people. So, when he asked his brother to come home, it was time. He internally ranted at Sherlock for his choice in ways of telling John he was alive. It was cruel and mean. But it was Sherlock’s lack of empathy that won out. After the whole affair was done and Mycroft saw the two of them together for the first time after John’s wedding he knew. He knew then that there was more to the relationship and hoped that his brother didn’t screw up.  
Sherlock had screwed up plenty. He was a menace. But he was the baby and Mother had spoiled him so. So, consequences meant little to him. Mycroft was always cleaning up after him.  
But there was side of Mycroft that neither John nor Sherlock knew. They didn’t know about the love affair in university that left him devastated and a confirmed bachelor. They did not know about the woman who was pregnant with Mycroft’s unborn son when she fell down a flight of stairs and died. They did not know about his Annie. And how Mycroft weeps for her still, decades later.  
But it was precisely for this tragedy in his past, that Mycroft has come to love John. To love the way he looks at his brother. To love the way that Sherlock is a better man around him. And to hope that love would find the one of the Holmes brothers and it warmed his bitter heart to know that his brother was happy and he hoped he was as happy as he could have been with Annie.  
But Mycroft’s job was the protector. He over saw protection in many ways. Keeping things in line for Mother and Father. Keeping Sherlock out of jail on more than one occasion. Keeping England safe. And as the protector he was also the secret keeper. He kept secrets that no one knew about. Things from Sherlock, his parents and John. He even kept his own secrets. And letting John and Sherlock see that man under the tweed and wool sitting on the floor in the flat eating American hot dogs was to blur the line. It made Mycroft feel vulnerable and that scared him. And it was in the vulnerability that he almost gave away his biggest secret.

*******************************************

Five weeks to the day after Giacomo King took possession of the flash drive, the data was accessed. He got the notification via text message and realized that the ISP of the computer accessing the drive was in London. Too close for comfort. The ghost was closer to him than he wanted. But the plans had long ago been put into motion and it was too late to stop the machine that was bearing down on him. He only hoped that Sherlock and John would be able to stay out of the cross fire.  
Mycroft watched the data come across his phone and waited for a phone number he knew would come soon. It did. He paused, poured himself a brandy and hit the send button on his phone. It rang twice.  
“How did you get this number?” the gruff voice asked on the other end.  
“You know how, precisely.” Mycroft answered.  
“Mycroft.”  
“Sebastian.”  
“It took you long enough.” Moran laughed. “I expected better.”  
“And I expected not to have to make this call.”  
“Always do what you are told?” Moran asked, challenging him.  
“Moran, I am sorry.”  
“Sorry about what exactly? Which turn in my life are you sorry for?” Sebastian spit. Mycroft sighed.  
“I need something from you.”  
“You’ll get nothing more than you deserve.”  
“A favor.” Mycroft continued, trying to seem unruffled. “I need you to leave my brother and Dr. Watson out of this. This is between us.”  
“That’s rich coming from you. Did you know my sister asked me the same thing a few years ago? To leave the good doctor out of this?” Moran said, turning bored with the conversation. Mycroft was afraid he would lose him soon.  
“I know.”  
“And yet, you think I will?”  
“I…” Mycroft paused. “Bas, we were partners once. What happened?”  
“M&M. That was us. Two peas and all that. But what happened? I replaced your silly rules and true moral compass with someone who understood what I desired. And you know what? It was worth it. I plan on finishing it.”  
“Moriarty…” Mycroft was cut off.  
“Do not pretend to tell me anything about him. You barely knew him. And I will finish this. I will finish you, your prat of a brother and his lying arsehole of a lover. My dear brother in law. Maybe a family dinner is in order. Should I drag your parents into this too?” Moran raged. Mycroft worked better like this. His calm became calmer as the storm banged around him. It was the trap he was hoping for. Moran walked right into it.  
“Bas, try. Trust in the fact that it will be you who is finished. “ Mycroft hung up the phone and threw it at the wall. He sipped his brandy and called for Anthea. 

***************************************************

“I need a new phone. Please have one sent over. That is all. Good night.” Anthea was out the door and Mycroft was alone with his thoughts. He thought about telling Sherlock and John, but right now he wanted nothing more than the life he had before. Before Annie died. Before Sebastian Moran came into his life and turned it upside down. Before everything when dark and black on the edges.

************************************************

Mycroft arrived at 221 B Baker Street early enough to seem like he was paying a visit before going to the office, but late enough to ensure that John and Sherlock were up. His new phone was in his pocket and he felt the first warm breeze of Spring float across the thinning crown of his hair. He rang the bell and went into the flat. Better to announce himself than to catch his brother and John in a compromising position.  
“Good morning, Mycroft. Tea? Kettle’s just boiled.” John said with English hospitality. Mycroft shook his head.  
“Where is Sherlock?” Mycroft asked.   
“Still in bed. It was late when we got back from the docks and he was too wound to fall asleep. He paced for hours.”  
“Please wake him. The three of us have things to discuss.” John nodded and noted that Mycroft did not look like himself. There was something else there. John went to the bedroom that was no longer his, but theirs and contained both of their things. Sherlock came downstairs a few minutes later, looking still half asleep.  
“This had better be something earth shattering.” Sherlock said as he flopped on the sofa. John poured tea and sat down next to Sherlock. Sherlock turned and put his head in John’s lap. Mycroft pulled up the desk chair and sat, crossing his legs. It was a weird version of their interviews with potential clients. Mycroft cleared his throat.  
“I am not at liberty to speak on much about my minor position in the British Government. There are papers that would render me dead before I reached the pavers in the front of this house if I spoke about certain things. But, there are things that I am willing to risk.”  
“So, tell me what you do and we can all have this at an end.” Sherlock snarled. He was tired and very upset at being awoken to listen to his brother drone on.  
“I know where Moran is and what he is planning.”


	28. Rubbish Bins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We spend an afternoon with John and Mycroft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is sad... wait for the feels... and the last line... Pretty damn good if I say so myself. :)

Chapter 28- Rubbish Bins

“What?!” Sherlock sat up and spun around onto the edge of the sofa. John’s face was frozen. “How long have you known? Where is he?”  
“Sherlock, please calm down. I intend to explain. But I have to warn you, that is not easy for me.” John nodded and pulled Sherlock towards him to settle him a bit. Mycroft took a dip of the tea that John had made for him and stood. He took off his jacket, his waist coat and undid his tie. He loosened the top button of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. But John patted Sherlock’s arm and waited while Mycroft settled into his seat again.  
“When I was at university, I had a difficult time keeping myself from running out of the ivy covered halls while screaming my head off in boredom. I didn’t study. I didn’t need to. I pretended to keep up the pretext of being an above average student and somewhat of a loner. It worked for some time. Through someone I knew, I was introduced to a man, young at the time and five years my senior. He struck up a fast friendship. He was clever, intelligent and there are a lot of qualities that I can see in John that I saw in him then. One night, we were debating some current piece of legislation in the houses, when he turned to me and asked if I wanted to go on an adventure. Those were his words. An adventure. As ludicrous as it sounds, I was intrigued. I went with him. Little did I know, that he was trying to recruit me into MI-6. He was a spy. I did not join the corps. I went to follow my own career path. But our paths were to cross again and we worked together over the years.”  
“Minor position….” Sherlock mumbled. John elbowed him, and nodded for Mycroft to continue.  
“I lost touch with him. He was deep under cover in something and he was burned. I had nothing to do with the decision. It’s not my department. But nevertheless, he came to blame me for it. I knew he had a sister, but that was all I knew. I did not know until I researched Mary that there was the real possibility. John I swear I did not know.” John nodded his assent and Mycroft went on. “I heard his name of course in association with Moriarty. I hoped that he was still working, deep under his cover. But shortly after Sherlock jumped, I found out he was the one who was aiming for Dr. Watson. He contacted me through old channels and expressed his anger at the situation. He had turned rogue. He was no longer safe. But I hoped that he was not a threat. I hoped that our past would keep his sights on me and not on anyone else.”  
“Something happened.” John said. His voice was even and Mycroft looked up from the spot on the table his gaze had been boring a hole into.  
“Yes. He and I spoke last night. He blames Sherlock for Moriarty’s death and plans on hurting one or all of us for his revenge. He’s a dangerous man at best. And because of the way he was burned, I cannot use my regular methods to keep us safe.” Sherlock breathed in and out, loudly, showing his frustration.  
“He picked up the strings of Moriarty’s network after I cut them, didn’t he?” Sherlock asked. Mycroft couldn’t find any words, couldn’t make his mouth work again. He nodded instead. “He’s in London.” Mycroft nodded again. He was exhausted and had laid his story at his brother’s feet.  
“So, now what?” John asked. Sherlock pulled his hands up to his lips and Mycroft took his tea cup and crossed to the kitchen. He had never seemed as at home to John, as he did this minute. John pushed Sherlock a bit and stood up. Sherlock got up, kissed John and went back to bed. He would think and then crash. John was on his own for the day. He waited until he heard the bed settle and knew that he was safe.

*********************************************

“What aren’t you saying?” John said to Mycroft who was staring out the small kitchen window. Mycroft pulled his arms across his chest and shook his head. John busied himself with washing up the dishes and set them on the drain board. He took a bottle of water and sat in his chair. John was good at being patient. He heard Mycroft come across the flat and sit in Sherlock’s chair. He looked years older than he was.   
“What makes you ask?” Mycroft asked. John took a drink and sat back. He crossed his legs and spoke, his voice even and calm.   
“You have a tell. And you are still here. There is more or you would have left.” Mycroft rubbed his index finger and thumb over the bridge of his nose and nodded.  
“What’s my tell?” he asked. John just smiled. He wasn’t going to give it up. “Sherlock told you what it is, didn’t he.” John shook his head.  
“This is all me. But I’m sure the moment I show it to Sherlock, he will lord it over you until we are all old and grey. “ John’s mouth twisted into a little smile. And Mycroft had to laugh a bit.  
“Never thought I would see the day that John Watson could hold something over me.”  
“So, are we going to dance around it for hours, or are you going to tell me the rest of your tale. If you are worried that I will tell Sherlock, don’t be. He still doesn’t know that I know which days he has come close to buying cocaine and that I am missing two tablets out of the bottle that Molly gave me when Mary died. I know he took them.”  
“But yet… never mind. It’s not important.”  
“So, Mycroft, tell me, what is so important that you are still here?”  
Mycroft nodded. “You know, I have come to respect you highly. Not just as a doctor, but as the man who loves my brother and keeps him safe. Keeps him from hurting himself. And I am so burdened. So tortured. I have never shared what I am about to tell you with anyone. No one knows the story. Not Sherlock. Not my parents, not Anthea. This is something that I think you can understand and maybe see why I helped Harry.” John nodded.  
“My third year in university, I met a woman. She was my age, with long ginger locks and bright green eyes. Her name was Annie. Annie Longfellow. She was bright, sweet and kind. And it all started with rubbish bins.”  
“Rubbish Bins?”  
“Yes. She was walking across campus when she was in a bit of a daze and walked into a line of stone rubbish bins. She dropped her bag and she was bleeding from the scratch on her shin. I offered her my handkerchief to help with the blood. I walked her to her flat and carried her bag. To me it was a gentlemanly thing to do. But it was more to her. She was Irish and she wasn’t quite used to what a proper English man should do. She was grateful and offered to buy me a coffee at the local bistro one evening as a thank you. I agreed as I found her smile delightful and after one single one sided relationship in my youth, I decided to try again. To learn this pattern of human behavior.”  
“Sherlock told me a version of that relationship.” John said. If Mycroft was being honest, so could John.  
“I’m sure. But no matter. I was young and stupid. Annie and I found that we enjoyed each other’s company and we became fast friends. She and I ate together several times a week and she rang me up one night and asked if I would come to her flat for dinner. It was a first. Generally we had gone out to dinner. But she wanted to cook for me. She said she was feeling a bit homesick and wanted to make something to remind her of home and wanted me there. I found out that night she had fallen in love and that I had too. Once I heard the words pass her lips, I found that I needed to say it too. Our relationship changed after that.”  
“I know that scene very well. “ John said, his eyes raising to the ceiling.   
“We continued to see each other for some time, most nights I stayed at her flat. In her bed. But at the end of term, she was heading back to Ireland for a few weeks. She was going to visit me at home before we returned to university and meet my parents. I was going to go over for the holidays and ask for her hand. I was smitten. But she never came to London to meet my parents. Sherlock at this point began to get into bigger and bigger trouble. He was acting out of whatever misplaced emotion he was dealing with at the time. He was a fourteen year old wanker. I didn’t want Annie to meet him then. I was ashamed of his behavior. I called and explained that my parents had surprised us with a trip and that we would come for Christmas to meet her parents and the New Year with mine. Sherlock often didn’t stay home for the entire break. He would spend the end of his break with our uncle in Sussex. It would be better. My family and I spent five days in Greece. It was fine. I didn’t entirely lie.”  
“So, you went back for your final year…”  
“And Annie came and found me the minute she arrived back on the grounds. She was glowing. She was bursting with something she wanted to tell me. But she wanted to wait and cook for me again and tell me that evening.”  
“She was pregnant, wasn’t she?” Mycroft nodded his head.   
“I was, believe it or not, over the moon. I was so in love with her, that I was thrilled at the prospect of being a father. By November, we were living together. I told my parents I needed a flat share for the privacy and the young lady needed the money. I told them bits and pieces. I think my mother was thrilled with the prospect that I was trying to find a mate. Annie was due to give birth in March. She was just beginning to show. I felt the baby kick as we lounged in bed. I was heady with love for the both of them. We were going to go out to do a bit of Christmas shopping before we left for Ireland. The concrete stairs to the flat were wet with newly fallen snow.” John’s eyes fell as he imagined the rest of the tale. The part that Mycroft couldn’t tell.  
“Oh, Mycroft. I’m so sorry.” Mycroft nodded.  
“I ended up accompanying her body back to Ireland. Her parents were less than thrilled that not only was I there to deliver their dead daughter to them, but I was living with her and she was pregnant with our son. But since she was over eighteen and I could prove parental linage, I was able to take his small body. I had him buried in a small area of the Holmes family plot. A small marker is all that remains.”  
“DSH” John stated. “I saw it when I visited.”  
“Declan Sherlock Holmes.”  
“Lovely strong name.”  
“Thank you. It was in my grief that Moran found me. And it was in my grief that I swore to never again put myself in a position that would cause me more pain than I had experienced.”  
“Yet, you still admit to being Sherlock’s brother.” John mumbled before he caught himself.  
“You are right.” Mycroft smiled through the tears running down his face. “It was after Sherlock died and I lost track of him time and time again, that I realized that there was no advantage in caring, but I did anyway. I was fearful that every text, every phone call , every email was going to tell me that he was gone for real this time and I would have to tell my parents, that I would grieve again. And I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to lose the one person who I love deeply. And even at our worst, I do love him. And that is why I helped Harry. I hope that someday you and she can have something more agreeable than Sherlock and I have.”  
“Mycroft. Fuck. That’s so….”  
“I know.”  
“And you have never spoken a word to anyone about this? You have carried this in your heart for years?”  
“Yes.” It was almost a whisper. John got up and walked the two steps to the other chair. He took the normally stoic man into his arms and let him cry soft sobs into his shoulder. He let him grieve. Mycroft put his hand on John’s shoulder and John stood up. He pulled out his phone and sent a text.

***************************************************

“1) Good whatever time it is. 2) I love you. 3) I went out with Mycroft for a while. 4) Eat something. 5) We are going to fuck when I get back. 6) I love you. X- JW” John heard the text from above his head and he turned to Mycroft.  
“Put on your jacket. We are going out.” John went down the stairs and knocked on the window of the waiting car. The driver jumped out and scrambled around to open the door for John. “Two stops, then back here and then home. Florist. Find out what one Anthea used for my wife’s funeral. The cemetery in Sussex. Here then home. No changes to the plan. Tell Anthea to text me, not Mycroft for the next two hours. And put the damn barrier up.” The driver nodded to his instructions and pulled out his own phone and sent his query. Mycroft stepped out on the pavers and John ushered him into the car. John noted other than the redden eyes, Mycroft looked to be the picture of himself.  
“Would you like to enlighten me as to where we are going?” he asked John. John’s phone buzzed in his hand. John shook his head.  
“Not so nice when the shoe is on the other foot now is it?” Mycroft allowed a small smile and stared out the window. John texted a response on his phone.  
“Dr. Watson?-A”  
“I know you will figure out where we are going by CCTV and by the instructions I have given the driver as well as the various tracking devices at your disposal. But I need to borrow Mycroft for a while. Please give us two hours. Then he will be delivered home. Radio silence. Make sure he has food to eat when he arrives. Something he eats when he is upset. And cake. Get him a cake. Don’t ever ask about today. This is for me. Please.-JW” The response was immediate.  
“Of course. Anything for you. Sherlock?-A”  
“Nothing to do with him. He’s sleeping and must never know about this either. I trust in your discretion.-JW”  
“Yes. Of Course.-A” John turned his phone off and put it in his pocket. The car arrived at their first stop and John popped out of the car.  
“Two ticks. Then on we go.” John said and disappeared. He came back with an arm load of flowers and a few cards. He spent the next forty minutes working on the cards. He finished and tucked them into one bunch of flowers. Mycroft said nothing. He noted where they were going when they turned off the motorway.  
“John”  
“Mycroft, I’m a bit upset today. A friend, no not a friend, my brother in law told me a sad story and I miss my wife and child. I needed someone to come with me while I visited their graves. It’s so close to my one year wedding anniversary.” Mycroft nodded. John got out of the car when it stopped and walked to Mary and Jane’s resting places. Mycroft noticed that John had left a small bouquet of wild Irish rose sitting on the seat. There was a card.  
“I wish you peace.- Uncle John.” Mycroft choked back a sob and went to see Declan for the first time in years.


	29. Harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We spend some time with Harry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah.... you all have to tell me what you think of the end of this chapter. I have been chomping at the bit to post this..... can't wait to see what you think!

Chapter 29- Harry

Harry was two years older than John. She was smart and slender and pretty and a drunk. Or at least when she was asked to describe herself, that is what she said. John nearly bounced over the ground as he moved up and down as he waited at the baggage claim for his sister. Sherlock insisted that he stay home and wait for them there. But he was pissed that neither Mycroft nor John would answer his questions about where they had been for several hours the afternoon before. John’s face broke out into a smile when he saw his sister. She was shorter than John and always slender but in recent years the amount of booze she drank made her look bloated. That was gone. She wore her hair in a smart bob that shone sunshine blonde and her skin looked healthy. She looked good.  
John came forward and hugged her tightly. She returned the hug but was shocked by the kiss he planted on her cheek.  
“Oi. John. What the bloody hell.” She said. He took her claim tickets and handed them to the driver. John escorted her outside and he could see her itch for a cigarette. He anticipated this and pulled one out of the pack he hid from Sherlock. It was going to be tough to breathe for a while. Once Harry was smoking in the flat then Sherlock would too. He was going to put some rules into place. Sit them both down. “Ta.” She said. He gave her a lighter and she took a long first drag. “How did you know?”  
“I live with one. Remember?”  
“Yes. An addict who smokes. Got it.” The driver had her bags and she finished her cigarette before climbing into the car. John went in after her. She settled into the black leather and turned towards John.  
“Something has got you in a very good mood. Or should I say someone.” She smiled and it was the first genuine smile John had seen in years.  
“Yes, well, I had a good afternoon with someone I recently discovered I cared about, had dinner with a handsome man and got shagged within an inch of my life. My sister is home and looks good. Why not be in a good mood?”   
“He’s good for you.” She observed.   
“You look good.” John said. He pulled her into a hug again.  
“Oi. Stop it.” She said but her eyes were laughing. His mood was catching.  
“What do you want for dinner?” he asked. Sherlock had been texting him since they had gotten in the car. He pulled out his phone.  
“Have you left?-SH”  
“Where are you?-SH”  
“How does she look?-SH”  
“I miss you.-SH”  
“Tell me where you went yesterday.-SH”  
“Are you and Mycroft doing spy things without me?-SH”  
John could almost hear the sigh of resignation in Sherlock’s last text. “What would Harry like for dinner?-SH”  
“X”  
John showed her his phone. Harry smiled. “You spent the afternoon with Mycroft?”  
“We did. We ran some errands.”  
“You aren’t going to tell me either.”  
“Nope. So, dinner. Trust me take away is the best option. Sherlock can cook but he gets bored and either it’s never finished or it’s burned.” John chuckled.  
“Noodles.” She said. “No decent noodles in Switzerland.”  
“Noodles it is. You still like Thai peanut with tofu?” Harry nodded and almost melted on the seat at the mention of them.  
John fired off a text and Sherlock sent back one.  
“Noodles. Our usual. Thai peanut with tofu for Harry. Be home soon. Behave until then. X-JW”  
“Love you.- SH” John shook his head and put his phone away. Harry and John chatted easily as they arrived at the flat. Harry had never been there before. John opened the door and let the driver with her bags up.   
“Back bedroom on the main floor.” John instructed and John followed him up the stairs. Harry came up last and she was impressed. 

******************************************

John walked over to Sherlock who was sitting on his chair, playing with something on his phone and dropped a kiss on his up turned lips.   
“Nice place. It suits the two of you.”  
“Thank you Harry.” Sherlock came over and attempted a brief hug. He had only met Harry twice and it was still a bit awkward between them. “Did he tell you where he went yesterday?” Sherlock whispered in her ear.  
“Nope.” Answered just as quietly. “Thank you for letting me stay.” She said more loudly. John chuckled.  
“Give it up Sherlock. Sometimes you are not going to know everything.” Sherlock shrugged and went back to his chair.  
“Tea?” he asked. John nodded and ran his hand through Sherlock’s hair before moving into the kitchen.   
“Make yourself at home.” John called out. Harry dropped her bag on the sofa and followed John into the kitchen. She sat on a stool and watched John make the tea.  
“You guys are so cute.” She said. John twisted his face. “No, in a good way. You are so much in love.”  
“Really.” John said. “Cute?”  
“Well it is. It’s better than the way you looked at Mary.”  
“It’s…. different.” John said. He turned and busied himself with the tea. They took their cups back into the sitting room and John offered Harry his chair. Sherlock shift so John could sit with him.  
“Mycroft is joining us for dinner.” Sherlock said as he had one arm around John and the other still moving across his phone. John looked over and saw that he was looking at email and texting. Back and forth.  
“Mycroft.” Harry said into her tea cup.   
“Yes. He asked to see you. It was logical to make it a dinner meeting.” Sherlock answered. John shot him a look that he knew he caught from the corner of his eye.  
“Fine.” Harry put down her tea cup. “I’d like to freshen up a bit. Where am I staying?” John got up and showed her the bedroom. He walked in and realized it still smelled a bit like Sherlock. Spice, cigarettes, expense musky cologne and silk. It was a smell that was still in his bed. He pulled the cigarettes from his pocket and tossed them at his sister.  
“Sitting room only. And you have to get the next pack.” She nodded and hugged her brother. “What was that for?”  
“For you. For being you.” He smiled and closed the door behind him as he left. He went to the kitchen and moved the calendar that was hanging on the wall. Behind it was a small hole that Sherlock had put there with one experiment or another and had forgotten about. He pulled out a fresh packet of cigarettes and held them by one corner. He came towards Sherlock and Sherlock’s eyes latched onto them at once.  
“This is it. Once they are gone, you are done. No asking Harry for one. No shops. No begging. No smoking in the kitchen or the bedrooms. Sitting room only. And only while Harry is here.” Sherlock nodded quickly to all the conditions, just to get his hands on a pack. He took them from John and planted a quick kiss on his lips.   
“Thank you love.” He said. He opened them quickly and lit one. He took a drag and all the tension melted from his long frame. John sighed.  
“One more condition. You do not ask about yesterday again.” Sherlock nodded again.  
“I almost had you telling me last night, didn’t I?” John replayed their evening in his head. John came back, they went out for dinner, a late night of shagging. Yes. There was a moment, when John was about to completely come undone under Sherlock’s hands, that he almost told him. But he clamped his mouth on Sherlock’s shoulder and bit him instead.  
“How’s the shoulder?” John asked and Sherlock ignored him. John smiled and walked to the kitchen for an ashtray. He pulled a heavy glass one from the shelf in the cupboard. It was the one Sherlock stole from Buckingham Palace. John chuckled as he put it on the desk near Sherlock. Harry, smelling the smoke came out to the sitting room and lit a cigarette of her own. She noticed the ashtray.  
“This is pretty.” She said. Sherlock smiled and John hid a laugh behind the paper he was reading in his chair.  
“It was sort of the first gift I gave John.” Sherlock said. “He said he wanted it and I got it for him.” There was a sly smile on his face and Harry looked perplexed. And Sherlock saw his John in Harry’s face at that moment. He was sure that if she was anything like John, he would soon find himself fond of her.  
The door downstairs opened and closed and John looked at his watch. Sherlock’s smile died and John raised his eyebrows as he looked at the ashtray. Sherlock shook his head. Mycroft had no idea he had nicked it. This was going to be interesting.

*******************************************

“Sherlock, are you smoking?” Mycroft called from the landing. “I hope John doesn’t find out.”  
“I’m the one who gave him the cigarettes.” John said as Mycroft crossed the landing and came into the sitting room. He dropped his hand to John’s shoulder in a greeting. He scanned his brother and itched for a cigarette himself. But with Harry sitting there, he figured John didn’t need more smoke in the flat. But his eyes came to rest on the ashtray and his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed.  
“Sherlock, where did you get that?” he asked his voice tight.  
“Isn’t it pretty. I was just saying to John how lovely it is. Sherlock told me it was the first gift he gave John.” Harry piped up. Mycroft appraised his brother who was trying, fairly unsuccessfully to not laugh and spun around to John.  
“Dr. Watson.” Mycroft said. John completely lost it. He laughed harder than he had in a while and it felt good.  
“Yes, Mycroft.” John said between laughs. Harry looked lost.  
“Would someone fill me in on the joke?” she implored. John shook his head and Sherlock had regained himself enough to answer.  
“We cannot. If we do we violate several sections of the Secrets Act. Isn’t that correct brother dear.” Mycroft sneered and stole a cigarette from Sherlock’s pack and lit it. He exhaled slowly and looked at Harry.  
“I am afraid he is right. But I can tell you this. My brother and his boyfriend are having a joke at my expense. And I was the one who set it up. Five years ago.” Harry smiled.  
“And it’s about the ashtray.”  
“Correct.” John said.  
“Five years, waiting on a joke.” She said. She shook her head. “That must be one really good joke.” John burst out laughing again and went to collect dinner from the front door when the buzzer rang. 

********************************************

“You look well, Harry.” Mycroft said.   
“I am.” She said. “Thanks to you.”  
“My pleasure.” He answered, patting her hand as he stubbed out his cigarette. He smiled a genuine smile at Harry and Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
“Dinner.” John said as he came back into the flat. He put the food on the low table by the sofa. Sherlock and John curled up on the floor, finding the usual ease of eating together. Mycroft had eaten with them often enough to know where to get forks, glasses and the like. He helped settle things. Harry sat on the sofa and watched the three men in their rhythm.  
Mycroft took off his jacket, waist coat and tie. He opened the top two buttons on his shirt and took his take away box to the sofa. He sat next to Harry.  
“I…” Harry started. Sherlock was busy shoving noodles into his mouth and nipping pea pods from John’s box. Mycroft watched her with interest, but John stopped and put his container down. He smiled at his sister.  
“I know. It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it.” John said.  
“What’s amazing?” Sherlock asked with a mouth full.  
“This. Us. Harry isn’t used to seeing us. We maybe dysfunctional, but we are a family. I noticed the night we had dinner here on the floor. Harry and I didn’t have this growing up.”  
“And we didn’t have the storybook childhood either.” Sherlock stated. Mycroft snorted.  
“No. But mainly because your mother is a genius and the two of you are… well….you.” John stuttered. “But, no matter what, we have found each other.” Sherlock nodded and John picked up his box again. “Eat.” He motioned at Harry. Sherlock smiled and John shook his head. “Are you happy I’m not nagging you for once?”  
“Very.” Sherlock said. John leaned over and kissed him on the mouth. It tasted of sesame noodles and cigarettes. Harry pulled a face.  
“Please. If you must. In your room.” She said, with a false mock tone. Mycroft nodded and chuckled to himself.  
“What? Like watching you and Clara all those years wasn’t weird for me?” John asked. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and John shook his head. Not now.  
“And what do your friends think of this?” Harry asked tucking into her take away box. She moaned a bit, as this was what she had been craving for weeks. And she mourned the glass of wine that would have paired well with it.  
“Well, that’s a bit different. Our relationship has always been….” John stopped.  
“Unconventional.” Sherlock inserted.  
“Yes. That will do. And well, most of our friends are fine with it. They watched it happen over years. But for others…”  
“I can think of two…” Sherlock mumbled.   
“And it’s not strange working and living together?” Harry asked. She was curious about why their relationship seemed to be so good.  
“We did that long before we became us.” Sherlock said. He put his box down and leaned back on his arms. His long legs stretched out in front of him.  
“True. I’m just trying to figure out…” Harry started. “I’ve been on this informational bender for a while. Trying to learn about what makes people do what they do. I’m trying to understand why I did what I did.”   
“Environment.” Sherlock said. John cleared his throat in warning. “No, John, hear me out. You both watched your father drink and your mother die. You both had time to make choices in life. Harry you fell in love and when your life became stagnant, you turned to the same habits of your father.” Harry nodded in agreement.  
“True. But Why didn’t John?” That was her real question. Why her and not her brother.  
“That’s harder to answer.” Mycroft offered. “Look at Sherlock and I. He’s an addict. I am not. We were raised the same.”  
“And John’s not an addict?” Sherlock tried. “He’s got his addictions.”  
“Like what?”  
“That’s going to be an interesting conversation.” John said, clearing his mouth of noodles. “This I want to hear.”  
“But you have heard it from both Mycroft and myself.” Sherlock said. “Mycroft said it the first night he kidnapped you. And I told you right after Mary told you…” John’s eyes hit the table and he knew. Harry looked confused.  
“Danger.”  
“Danger.” Sherlock confirmed.   
“What? Like trying to push the boundaries with blokes at the pub? Trying to get hit?” Harry asked.  
“Worse. I missed the war. Why do you think I joined up? I liked being around conflict. Which is why I love Sherlock. He pulls in conflict like a magnet.” Sherlock pretended to look offended. Mycroft laughed.  
“So, you like getting shot at?” Harry offered. “I know a few people who would do that for a fiver.” John laughed.  
“So, here we are. A family of addicts.” John said. They nodded and John got up to clear the boxes. Mycroft joined him in the kitchen as Sherlock showed off to Harry watching people on the street while they smoked.

******************************************

“How many times has he texted you about yesterday?” John asked as Mycroft sat on the stool, watching John wash up.  
“Ninety seven. Did you…”  
“He almost got it out of me. I bit him. Make sure that you clamp down on his left shoulder. He’s still sore.” John smiled and Mycroft did as well.  
“I will.” Mycroft looked at the table. “Thank you for yesterday.”  
“Thank you for Harry.”  
“Seems we owe each other a lot.” Mycroft noted. “I am not in the habit of owing anyone anything.”  
“No, we don’t owe each other a thing. This is family and this is what we do.” Mycroft nodded.  
“John!” Sherlock yelled from the window. “Lestrade.”  
“Shite.”  
“I’ll stay until you return.” Mycroft offered.  
“Are you sure?” John asked. Mycroft nodded. John grabbed for his phone and waited for Lestrade to finish climbing the stairs.  
“How many?” Sherlock asked.  
“Three. Skinned. No blood.” He stopped short when he saw Harry. “I’m sorry. You have company.”  
“My sister Harry. Har, Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. Where?”  
“Hello.” Greg offered. He gave John and Sherlock the address and they said they would right behind. John gave Harry a kiss on the cheek and Sherlock followed suit, his face alight with a new case. Mycroft shook his head and made sure to hit Sherlock on the shoulder. Sherlock winced.   
“Prat.” He said as he left. Mycroft smiled at Sherlock cursing at John and John’s laughter as it bounced down the stair and out the door.

******************************************************

“They are happy aren’t they.” Harry noted as she joined Mycroft in the kitchen. He was making a pot of tea for them.  
“Yes. They are.”  
“That’s all I could wish for John. Happiness.”  
“And what do you want?” Mycroft asked. Harry smiled and put her arms around his waist. He pulled her into his embrace.


	30. I'm in Shock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John discover something they both missed....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get out your orange shock blankets.... here goes nothing.

Chapter 30- I’m in Shock

“You didn’t tell them.” Harry said. Mycroft kissed the top of her blonde head and mumbled his no into her hair.  
“I couldn’t.”  
“Myc, you know this is no good. I am in recovery. They think this is the second time we met. They have no idea you and I have been seeing each other for months now. They don’t know that you have been coming to see me.”  
“No. I think we have been doing well enough that not even Sherlock suspects.” Mycroft said. Harry tilted her head up to his face.  
“It’s been too long.” She said. He kissed her deeply. They had seen each other a week ago. Sherlock and John were sure the fatigue they saw on Mycroft’s face was the result of his worry about Mary and King. His dealings with Moran. But in part it was the constant travel to see Harry.  
“We have about an hour.” Mycroft said. Harry smiled and pulled Mycroft by the hand to the bedroom she was using in the flat. Mycroft smiled and followed. Harry shut the door and within seconds, had her blue summer dress shucked off and stood in the dim spring twilight in only sky blue panties and bra. Mycroft felt the familiar stirrings in his groin. Harry took a few steps towards him and began to unbutton the rest of his white shirt. He allowed her and felt his arms wrapping around her waist.   
“I am glad you are home.” He said, before enveloping her mouth with his. He pushed past her soft pink lips and felt her teeth graze his tongue. Her hands ran over the muscled chest and she pushed off his shirt. Her hands made quick work with his belt and trousers as he kicked off his shoes. He stepped out of his pants and left a trail of kisses down her neck to her collar bone as he led her to the bed. He found her nipple of her breast through the lace and began to suck and bite it. She moaned and arched her back, running her red nails along his back.   
Mycroft’s hand traced a line along her thigh and found her heat between her legs, under the silk of her panties . He began to rub her, his cock hardening on her leg.  
“I swear, if you don’t take me right now, I will explode.” She said in to his ear. Mycroft smiled.  
“We have some time. I want to make it right.” He wanted to take his time and taste every inch of her again.  
“I know. But I want you to fuck me, feel me come around your cock and then hold me while you come. Then, I want to just be held for a while. We have forever now.” Mycroft answered her by deftly unclasping her bra and sliding it off her arms. Her pert breasts were sensitive and he gave them little kisses as he pulled off her panties and then his own pants. He stroked her clit with his fingers and moved them down to slide them into her sex.  
“So wet.” He said. She nibbled on his ear and whispered. “Always for you.” He shifted into overdrive and shifted her under him. He pulled her legs up onto his thighs and she moaned as he pushed his hard cock into her.  
“God.” She said as he withdrew and pushed in again. His head fell back and she pulled herself up, holding onto his neck as he rammed himself into her over and over again.  
Her mouth sought his out and he moaned. “Harry.” He felt the first stirrings of her orgasm and pushed his way into her, deeper. She felt the changes and knew she was close.  
“Yes, God, Myc.” She stammered. He pushed his hands under her firm round arse and pushed her up and thrust his own hips deeper. She shattered against him, her orgasm rocking her body. Her muscles clenched around his cock and she began to shift herself, knowing from experience that he didn’t need much more.   
“Harry. Yes.” He said as he found himself spilling into her, his cock as deep as he could get it. Their bodies were slick with sweat and sex. He reached behind her and pulled back the duvet. He lay her down and moved on top of her, his flaccid cock laying on her thigh. He peppered her lips with kisses.  
“I needed that.” He said. “It’s been so hard, not reaching out to touch you this evening.” She ran her fingers through his slightly thinning ginger hair and smiled.  
“I know. I wanted to kiss you every time you looked at me.” She sighed. “I love you Mycroft Holmes.”  
“I love you.” It was not a new phrase to either of them. It was something they had been repeating to each other for some time.  
“I should shower.” She said after some time. Mycroft nodded and he bent to kiss the top of her head. “What about you?”  
“I should too. Sherlock will notice either way now. I would rather go home with the smell of you on me.”  
Harry sighed. “What’s wrong darling?”  
“So close.”  
“I know.” Harry got up and went to the shower. Mycroft dressed and went out to the sitting room. He sat in the chair at the desk and lit a cigarette. Harry came out of the bath wearing her robe and snuck a drag off of his cigarette. She bent down to kiss him. Their lips met and Sherlock walked through the door. 

****************************************

“What the bloody fucking hell!” Harry froze and Mycroft let out a breath. John came in the door behind Sherlock.  
“What?” he asked, expecting to find Harry with a bottle in her hand and instead finding his sister in a compromising position with his brother in law. “Harry?”  
Harry stood up and crossed her arms across her breasts. Mycroft stubbed out the cigarette and flexed his arms behind his head. He had a bit of a mischievous smile on his face. “Harry, darling, maybe you should put some clothes on. Then we can sit and talk like adults.”  
“Won’t be but a tick.” Harry said and ran to the room. John followed her with his eyes and Sherlock began to laugh. It grew from the center of his chest and boomed across the room. John eyed him with a glare and Sherlock laughed harder. He pulled John to him and kissed the top of his head before he went to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. John stood in the center of the room, his hands fisted at his sides.  
“My sister?” he boomed at Mycroft and Sherlock’s laughter started again. “This is not funny Sherlock!” he roared. Harry reappeared, dressed in sleep bottoms and a vest. She looked ten years younger and a bit lighter. She bounced over to Mycroft and perched herself on the edge of the desk. Mycroft put his arm around her waist.  
“Yes, Harry.” Mycroft said.  
“And yesterday?” John spat at him. Mycroft’s face got tight and Sherlock got very quiet. He was listening.  
“Yesterday, well, that is something we can discuss in private.” Mycroft was careful with his words. He still didn’t want anyone to know what he confessed to John.  
“It makes so much sense now. You were feeling guilty. That’s why…” John stopped himself. Mycroft settled himself on the chair again and pulled Harry a bit closer.  
“John, Mycroft came to see me a week after he sent me away. We talked. It was part of the process. And you had so much on your shoulders. Mycroft was there to listen. I didn’t want to burden you further. He started coming every other week or so. We talked. It was part of my therapy. He listened. That’s Mycroft’s addiction you know. Secrets. I told him things I have never told anyone. Then he started to take me out. A meal. In a pub. It was my therapist’s idea. To see how I handled the temptation. Then we would walk and talk. And about four weeks ago, he kissed me. It was nice. And then he came as often as he could. We started sleeping together about three weeks ago. I’m good John. I really am.” John turned and stared at Sherlock. Sherlock came into the sitting room with the tea tray. John took a cup and sat in his chair. He said nothing.  
“Fuck, Mycroft.” Sherlock said. “I guess we are more alike than we realize. We both fell for Watsons.” Mycroft smiled and John made a noise that was like a growl. Sherlock came to sit on the arm of John’s chair. He rested his arm on the back and ran his long slender fingers through John’s locks. John relaxed a bit. But he said nothing.  
“I didn’t plan on this happening. I wanted to check on her wellbeing. I was being honest John, when I told you that I wanted to try and bring you two closer together.” Mycroft said. “We planned on telling you at some point. But it was going to be harder here. We wanted to see where the relationship went outside the confines of the facility.”   
“Tell me about the case.” Harry offered, trying to change the subject and ease some of the tension. It was all Sherlock needed. He spoke rapidly about the crime scene and what he had deduced. John sat in his chair, staring at Mycroft and Harry.   
“And I can also tell that you had sex while we were gone.” Sherlock finished. John got up from his chair and went upstairs to their room. He slammed the door shut. Sherlock slid into the chair that John had just left.  
“Should I go up?” Harry asked. Sherlock waved his hand.  
“No. I will in a minute.” He said. “John needs to get it out of his system. I’ll talk him round.” Harry nodded and lit a cigarette. Sherlock took one from the stash he had hidden and lit one himself. “Will you be staying the night?” he asked his brother.  
“I’m not sure it’s such a good idea.” Mycroft said.   
“It’ll be fine. I know John. He’s just…. Well, it’s all a bit much. His sister. My brother. Who would have seen this.” Sherlock said. He finished his cigarette and climbed the stairs to their room. He stopped at the top and knock. He opened the door and flopped on the bed next to where John was lying.

***************************************

“You are okay with this?” John asked.   
“It was a bit shocking at first. But honestly, it will do them both good. Mycroft can be happy and Harry has stability.” Sherlock said with a shrug.  
“But, this is… Harry is a …. Shit.” John sagged into the bed and Sherlock rolled onto his side. He lifted his hand to John’s face and traced his jawline.  
“What? Harry’s a lesbian? John, you of all people.” Sherlock said. John let out a breath. Sherlock was right as usual.  
“And what am I supposed to think?” John asked as he reached for Sherlock’s hand that was laying on the bed. Sherlock shrugged.  
“Why think about it at all.”  
“But, the two of them….”  
“And I would rather not think about my brother and your sister. It’s indecent.” Sherlock smirked.  
“What?”

“I think you are in shock.”  
“Of course I am in shock. My sister got out of rehab yesterday. She came to stay with us for a short time. And I find out that she has been shagging Mycroft for a while. Do you still have that silly blanket?” John smiled and began to laugh. “I think it’s my turn to use it.”  
“At least we don’t have to worry about having sex while she is here. Although if Mycroft does stay it will make for some interesting breakfasts.”  
John frowned. “We should send Mrs. Hudson on a holiday. Can you imagine what she must think goes on in this flat?”  
“As long as I am not shooting holes in the walls, I don’t think she cares.” Sherlock stretched. “Come back down. Let them see that you are dealing with this.”  
“Not tonight. I need to process it a bit more. Go on. I’m fine love.” John said. He raised Sherlock’s hand to his lips. Sherlock smiled and went back downstairs.

**************************************

Mycroft was seated in the same place, but Harry was in the bedroom. She wanted to give them some space.  
“Are you staying?” Sherlock asked. Mycroft nodded.  
“If it’s not too much trouble.”  
“It’s fine. John is dealing with this bombshell. I think by morning it will all over. The storm will have passed.” Sherlock leveled his gaze at his brother.  
“Thank you.” Mycroft said. He got up from the chair and clamped his brother on his shoulder. “And stop using sex with John to get him to tell you my secrets.” He said into his ear as he passed to join Harry in the bedroom. Sherlock gritted his teeth against the discomfort that his brother caused him. Damn John for telling him that in a moment of weakness John bit him instead of revealing the secret they shared. He climbed the stairs to their room to pull John close and ruminate on the problem.


	31. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One meal, two couples, four people. What could possibly happen? You never know when two of them are Holmes'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are drawing to a close on the first part of this series. I have been slaving away on the next part. I've been a bit stuck recently to be honest, but I think I have gotten past it. So, have fun at breakfast with the Holmes and the Watson's. I need to get back to the pub.  
> Thanks for all the great comments.   
> Keep them coming :) XXOO

Chapter 31- Breakfast

John woke up overly hot. Sherlock was spread across him like a blanket under the duvet. John felt that he needed to get out of the bed or he was going to suffocate. He pushed Sherlock off of him and pulled on his robe as he headed downstairs. It was early and he thought that maybe he would have a few minutes alone before the rest of the house awoke. He went to the sitting room to sit and think. He found Mycroft sitting in Sherlock’s chair, tying his brown oxford shoes. John sat down across from him and said nothing.  
“You are right, you know. It was guilt.” Mycroft said. He sat back and ran his hand over his waist coat.  
“I know.” John said. “But I still feel as if you lied to me.”  
“I understand and I am sorry. It was not my intention. I was thinking about how wonderful it was going to be to have Harry so close. That I could see her at a moment’s notice. But then I feared what could happen. I feared that Moran would find out about her and she would be in danger.” Mycroft sighed.  
“I told you I know. I think if we keep her here for a while, it wouldn’t be that unusual for you to come and see your brother. And the fact that Harry is here, is coincidental.” Mycroft nodded.  
“But I shouldn’t spend the night too often.”  
“True. But if Sherlock and I are working I would feel better that there was someone here with her. And keeping the pretense as her benefactor enables you to take her out. Drive with her to appointments and the like.”  
“You have been thinking about this. Ever the pragmatic one.”  
“I have been thinking about it.” John rubbed his still tired eyes with the back of his hand. “I just wish that everyone I care about would stop lying to me.”  
“Again, I am sorry. I did not intend to hurt you.” John nodded.  
“Are you leaving?”  
“I need to go to the office. I plan on coming back for breakfast.” Mycroft stood. “I will bring some scones. Two hours.” John nodded. It was early and there was a good chance that Sherlock and Harry would sleep until then. Mycroft left and John got up to make coffee. He set the pot to brew while he checked emails and the website. 

****************************************

“How long have you been up?” John asked as he closed his browser on his laptop. He had been working for over an hour.  
“I woke up when you left our bed. But I was thinking.” Sherlock came over and leaned against the desk. He grabbed John and pulled him up into his arms. John kissed Sherlock good morning and settled against his chest.   
“What were you thinking about?”  
“You.”  
“I’m fine. Mycroft and I spoke this morning. Harry will stay here. Mycroft will be here more. It’s a practical idea.”  
“I knew you’d come around.” Sherlock lifted John’s chin and kissed him deeply. They were alone for a moment and took advantage of it, snogging until they were almost panting.  
“Get a room.” Harry grumbled from the kitchen. John heard her pouring coffee and decided that he needed to get started on an omelet for breakfast. Mycroft was due back shortly. John let go of Sherlock and walked to the kitchen.  
“Need I remind you, we live here. You are the guest.” John said with a smile. He kissed his sister as he headed to pull put vegetables and eggs to start chopping.   
“But I don’t have to see it first thing in the morning.” She complained as she moved towards Sherlock’s chair and a cigarette. Sherlock poured himself coffee and settled into watching John cook. It was domestic and normal. And Sherlock loved watching it.  
“How are you with the idea of Mycroft being here more often?” John asked as Sherlock nipped a pepper strip.  
“I’ll deal.” He said. “How do you feel about Harry being here?”  
“I’ll deal.” John said with a shrug. He put the knife down and looked at Sherlock. “Mycroft is concerned that his relationship with Harry will put her in danger. Like Moriarty did with us.” Sherlock pursed his lips.  
“It’s possible.” Sherlock took John’s hands in his. “But I promise this. We will fight with every fiber of our beings to protect each other and the ones we love. We will find Moran and finish this.” John nodded.  
He went back to chopping vegetables and thought about it. He wasn’t sure that no matter how many Moran’s and Moriarty’s they defeated, there wasn’t always going to be something else challenging them.  
Mycroft entered the sitting room and Harry sent him a beaming smile. Sherlock groaned and Mycroft dropped the bakery box on the kitchen counter before going to Harry. She lit up and grabbed him around the neck with her slender arms.  
“I missed you.” She cooed. John smirked and Sherlock grumbled various different threats under his breath. John smiled as he gave Sherlock a look of warning. John started a new pot of coffee and put the eggs in the pan with the vegetables.  
“With this many people eating here regularly, we may have to clean off the table.” John said. Sherlock huffed and walked out of the room. He knew that he was more upset about moving his experiments than the number of people in the flat. John chuckled and Mycroft came into the kitchen.  
“We need to speak.” Mycroft said. John knew the look in his eye. It was bad news.  
“What happened?” John asked. “Should I get Sherlock?”  
“Not yet.” Mycroft said, hearing Sherlock shifting around the bedroom over his head. “Moran sent me a message this morning.”  
“Hmmm.” John answered.  
“He wants to meet.”  
“And…”  
“I need to go.” John flipped the eggs in the pan and thought for a moment.  
“And what will meeting him accomplish exactly?” John asked. He studied the golden edges of the omelet and the melting cheese.   
“Nothing. Or maybe everything.” Mycroft sighed. “I truly am at a loss. I know Sherlock will run into the fray. You are more measured. What is your advice?”  
“I don’t know. Let me think.” John said. He pulled the scones out of the box. Still warm. He pulled the coffee off of the maker, added butter and jam as well as plating the eggs. Before he called his sister and boyfriend into the kitchen he looked at Mycroft. “Public space. Plenty of CCTV. Have yourself watched. Ten minutes tops. Lead the interview. And for God’s sake do not bring a gun. Moran is a better shot than you.” Mycroft nodded.

*************************************

“Is that hot scones I smell?” Harry asked when she came into the kitchen. John nodded and decided that he was going to go talk to Sherlock. He climbed the stairs to the room and found Sherlock on the bed, laying on his stomach. That was an unusual position for him.  
“Did I upset you, love?” John asked, sitting next to him and stroking his back with his hand.  
“No. I’m just not used to having so many people here. I miss it just being us.” Sherlock stated into the mattress. John knew that Sherlock could find too many people overwhelming which is why they entertained infrequently.  
“I know. “  
“What is Mycroft hiding?” John’s hand stopped.  
“Why do you think he would tell me?” John asked. He wasn’t sure if it was another trick or if he had heard the conversation between himself and Mycroft in the kitchen.  
“He seems to be telling you more in the last couple of days….” A trick then. John resumed moving his hand up and down Sherlock’s spine.  
“No more and no less secrets than he has told you over the years.” John retorted. Sherlock smiled into the pillow.   
“True.” Sherlock flipped around onto his back. “I guess that I am…. That my brother…”  
“Sherlock, are you jealous that Mycroft isn’t giving you his full attention any longer?” John asked. Sherlock didn’t answer, but John felt the slight shift in his muscles. They were a bit more rigid than before. “Having Harry involved with him was not what I was expecting either. But we will adjust.”  
“If we must.”  
“We will. Now, come down and eat. Then we can go out for a while. Do something fun with Harry.” John rose from the bed and held his hand out for Sherlock who did take it and they went downstairs.

************************************

Mycroft was reserved. John saw it in his body language at the table where he was sitting with Harry, eating a buttered scone. Harry was talking about something that had her eyes alight and she hadn’t noticed the change in Mycroft since he had been at work. But John did and surely Sherlock did as well. He raised his eyebrow at his brother who gave him an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Sherlock went for coffee and nibbled on a scone. John leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee, listening to Sherlock trying to bait Mycroft into something, Harry laughing at them both and he smiled. Family and breakfast. It was something he didn’t know was missing from his life and he was glad the hole had been filled up with love, or the closest that they could come to it.


	32. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter of part one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... here it is. The last chapter of part one. I am thrilled you have stayed with me this long. And I hope you forgive me for the ending here..... but I will make it up to you, soon. Still working on part two. It's been harder and harder but I am loving it.  
> So... with out further ado, thank you all for reading and commenting. Love you all. ;)

Chapter 32- Broken

Harry had been staying with John and Sherlock for three weeks. They had fallen into a regular routine, with Harry alternating between regularly cooking for her brother and the great consulting detective to her dining with Mycroft after he took her to her regular meetings and therapy appointments. Mycroft tried to spend as few nights at the flat as possible, but when he did, he came in through the back entrance at Mrs. Hudson’s flat and left the same. The older woman never knew.  
John and Sherlock were busy with a case for Lestrade. A series of tattooed persons were being killed and their bodies had the original tattoos altered. They ranged from corrected spellings to turning small tattoos into greater works of art. John was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee early one morning after being out with Sherlock all night searching tattoo parlors. He was bone tired and needed a shower. Sherlock was bathing and most likely using up all the hot water. Harry came out to the table and sat down across from her brother.  
“Go to bed. You can shower later. You are dead on your feet.” She said.  
“I’m fine.”  
“John, I can see it in your eyes. How many places did you go last night?”  
“I lost count after seventeen. Who knew that there were so many tattoo shops in London?” He rubbed his face with his hands and took a deep breath.  
“And what does Sherlock say about your tattoo?” Harry asked. John pulled both his lips in between his teeth. He and Harry had a lark one night right before he was shipped out. They had gotten small matching tattoos. He had never told her that it was gone. Seared off by a mortar round that burned through his pants. There was nothing there now but a shiny pink patch of skin where the little hedgehog had once embraced his calf.   
“It’s gone.” He admitted. Harry sighed.  
“I figured.”  
“You knew?” he asked. His face soften and he knew that there wasn’t much he could keep from his sister, eventually.  
“When you were in the hospital from your shoulder. I was in the room sitting with you. The nurse came to shift you and I saw your leg. The burn was healed but still fresh enough for me to notice.”  
“I’m sorry.” He said. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you earlier. To be honest, I had forgotten about it until this case. I have had the scar so much longer than the tattoo.”  
“I understand.” Sherlock left the bathroom and Harry had her leg up on the table, showing John her tattoo. He was running his finger tips over it.  
“It fucking hurt.” He said. Harry nodded.  
“What hurt?” Sherlock asked as he poured himself a cup of coffee.  
“When John and I got tattooed.” Harry mentioned settling herself on the stool again.  
“You have a tattoo?” Sherlock asked, running through every inch of John’s skin that he had cataloged and filed in his head.  
“No longer. Got burned off.” John said through a yawn. Sherlock nodded and John decided that sleep was a better idea than a shower and with a kiss on his sister’s cheek, he climbed the stairs to bed. Sherlock took his coffee into the sitting room and opened his laptop. He sat at the desk checking off the number of shops they had visited the previous night.

******************************************

“It was two nights before John was shipping overseas. We decided to do it as a lark, something to maybe help us face the fear we were over whelmed with. But in the end, it didn’t last.” Harry said. “My friend was an art student and she was always making extra money drawing up ideas for people for tattoos. She said she had always wanted to learn how to do it, but she was scared of the blood. “Harry droned on about her school friend and talking to people about spellings and hours and hours of research to get things right.   
“She was afraid of someone taking her to court over something being wrong.” Sherlock slammed the lap top shut suddenly.  
“Damn woman! You are as smart as your brother. Now where is my damn phone?” Sherlock ran to find it and began texting like mad. Harry sat back and watched.  
“You solved it.” She said. Sherlock nodded. “Tell me.” She had never seen this before, only read about in John’s blog. She wanted to experience it firsthand. Sherlock put his phone in his pocket and turned, seeing a new and willing audience.  
Sherlock paced the floor in the sitting room, explaining the nuances of the case, his hands flying around him. His voice was excited and ranted, his speech to fast for Harry to follow all the time. John was more used to the rapid pace, but Harry found the whole thing exhilarating. Sherlock finished and sat in his chair. There was nothing to do but sleep now.  
“Sherlock, that was incredible.”  
“You helped.” He said warmly. Harry smiled.  
“Go to bed.” She said. Sherlock nodded.  
“What are you going to do with your day while we sleep?” he asked.  
“Shopping. I was going to make dinner tonight and since you solved a case I think something special is in order. So, cooking and maybe a bit of reading. I have a meeting at three.”  
“DO you need…. I can call Mycroft…”  
“I’m a big girl Sherlock. I do not plan on drinking. But, if the temptation calls, I will call Myc. Trust me.”  
“I am an addict too. I hope that I can trust you.” He rose and dropped a kiss on her head before going up to sleep. Harry sat in the chair and picked up a book.

**************************************

John came downstairs when he smelt Harry’s paella cooking. The smells were wafting up the stairs. He left Sherlock groggily getting dressed. Harry was humming to herself as she moved around the kitchen.  
“You’re in a good mood.” John said. Harry nodded.  
“It was a good day. I helped Sherlock solve the case.” She said. John smiled.  
“I know. It’s something else to think that something you said or the way you moved helped him save a life.” John said. “It’s a rush.”  
“That it is. I see why you love it.” She said. Sherlock came into the room and wrapped his arms around John’s waist, pulling his back against his front. He rested his chin on his head and John settled against him.  
“She was brilliant.” Sherlock said. “I was thinking about tattoos. Not students. And she showed the error.”  
“I was just telling him a story.” Harry blushed.   
“What time is Mycroft arriving?” Sherlock asked, noting that the table was set for four. Harry glanced at the clock.  
“He should be here by now.” She pulled out her phone and dialed his number. Voice mail. Sherlock looked at his phone. It was blank. John reached for his. Blank also.  
“He called me about an hour ago and said he was on his way.” Harry said, chewing on her lip. Sherlock began texting on his phone. Two messages out and two back. He moved towards the window in the sitting room and John noted the change in his posture. Something was wrong. John when towards Harry.  
“He gets pulled into meetings sometimes. There is nothing he can do about it. But that’s what happens when you run the government.” Harry nodded and went back to stirring dinner without the humming. John went to the desk with the pretense of sorting the mail.  
“What?” he asked Sherlock.  
“Anthea doesn’t know where he is. He was dropped off around the back street almost an hour ago. He sent the car on. He was staying the night.”  
“Moran?” John asked. Sherlock nodded.  
“Most likely.”  
“Lestrade?”  
“I’ll deal with it. Tell Harry he’s working and he will be in touch soon. Let’s not scare her yet.” John nodded and went back to the kitchen. John explained as carefully as he could that Sherlock was texting with Anthea and that Mycroft had gotten called away. No phone area. He was most likely going to be late.   
Harry nodded, her face full of disappointment. “I knew it was too good to last.”   
“This is the life with a Holmes. Broken dinners. Broken engagements. But the end results are worth it. “ John said, trying to smile. Harry wiped a tear.  
“You guys eat. I’m going to lay down.” John watched her. “I’m not going to drink, John. I’m sad and upset. But I’m hormonal and that’s nothing. I really don’t want to throw this away.”  
“Are you…”  
“I’m fine. It’s not the first time. He did this a few times when I was away. He had to cancel at the last minute or he didn’t show and didn’t call for two days. It hurts. I was just loving the attention here. But I knew it wouldn’t last.”  
“Okay. I’m here if you need me.” John said. Harry kissed her brother.  
“I know. But, really, I’m fine.” She went to her room and shut the door.

********************************************

“Lestrade is on his way. Anthea says his phone is completely off. They are running CCTV, but there is none in the alley. Mrs. Hudson is away.”  
“I’m worried about Harry. I’m worried she might…” John left the thought.  
“Tea. Sleeping pills. We can ask her sponsor….” Sherlock listed. John nodded and sent a text to the young man who was the person to call if Harry felt the need to drink. He would be over within twenty minutes. Lestrade came up the stairs just after the young man. He had been coordinating from NYS. John sat in the flat, while Sherlock went to the alley to investigate. Harry came out and was sitting in John’s chair, chain smoking.  
“Something has happened.” She said to John. He hesitated. “Mycroft.” It was a prayer. Her voice cracked on it. John ran to his sister’s side. He pulled her into his arms. “You’ve known for a while now.”  
“Yes.” John admitted. “We think someone took Mycroft.”  
“And Sherlock is trying to find him?” she asked. She sounded so frail.  
“Yes, and I need to help him. Lloyd is here.” Harry’s sponsor came to join John where he was holding his sister. Harry nodded and Lloyd started to talk to her in a low voice. John pulled Sherlock and Lestrade into the kitchen.  
“No sign of him. Anthea is trying to find Moran. I think he might have him.” Lestrade said. John nodded.  
“We need to go.” Sherlock urged. John nodded again.   
“Your parents.” John said. Sherlock shook his head.  
“I don’t want to call them yet.”   
“No, look at your mobile.” It was in Sherlock’s hand but he didn’t feel the vibration. The screen showed his parents.  
“I… I … can’t” He handed his phone to John who answered it.   
“Hello, Martha.” John said, trying to walk away from where Sherlock and Lestrade were discussing the case.  
“John…. What is going on? Did someone take Mycroft’s phone? We just got a strange call. It wasn’t him. The man said that he was going to hurt Mycroft. That Mycroft could hear us and that we should say goodbye to our first born. Then he laughed. And I heard a scream. I think some kids were having us on.”  
“Sherlock!” John yelled. “Track Mycroft’s phone now!”   
“What happened?” Martha’s voice went from irritated to upset.  
“One second. I’ll tell you. But give me a second.” John said. Martha fell silent. “Lestrade, text Anthea. Have the team in Sussex pick up the Holmes’ and bring them here. Now.” Lestrade texted at a rapid rate for him and Sherlock was trying to find the ping for Mycroft’s phone. Harry came to the door of the kitchen, her face ashen.  
“Martha, listen to me. Someone took Mycroft. We are looking for him. But you and Ben cannot stay there. One of Mycroft’s cars will be there in…” he looked at Lestrade. He held up five fingers. “Five minutes. Pack quickly. You are coming here. No questions. I will call when there is news.”  
“Yes. Oh, God. I hope that he’s alright.” Martha moaned.   
“Mycroft is strong. He will be fine.” John reassured her. He prayed that it was true. John could hear Martha talking to Ben and he took Lestrade’s phone from his hands and texted Anthea himself.   
“I’m going to go. I’ll see you shortly. Anthea and my sister Harry will be at the flat. We’ll be back as soon as we can.” John rang off and Sherlock found the ping.  
“A warehouse, near the Thames.” He read off the address and Sherlock and Lestrade were out the door. John turned to kiss Harry.   
“Anthea is on her way. Mrs. and Mrs. Holmes too. We will be back as soon as we can.” Harry nodded and John ran out the door and into the waiting car as they peeled away from the curb.

********************************************

Mycroft was not overtly strong, but years of running had left him fairly toned and stronger than he looked. He attempted to fight his attacker, but it was hard to fight when you were tied to a chair with wire at your wrists and ankles. Moran looked older than the last time that Mycroft had seen him. His black hair was salt and peppered with grey and his eyes were crinkled like a man who spent a long time squinting in the sun or through a rifle scope. But it was the scar that ran from his left temple to his nose that was the most starling change about him.  
“Sebastian.” Mycroft spit. His lip was swollen and split, he had a headache from where his attacker had hit him and his cheek was bruised. Other than the way the wire cut into his flesh with each movement, he was for the most part in fair shape. But Mycroft wasn’t sure it would last for long.  
“Mycroft.”   
“Bas, what can I do to help you? How can we resolve this?”   
“Ever the diplomat.” Moran said. He had two items in his right hand that he was twisting over each other, shuffling them. Mycroft recognized one as his phone and the other as a knife. The phone was off. No GPS if it wasn’t working.  
“So, what is your plan than?” Mycroft asked.   
“I’m not telling you everything.”  
“You never did.”  
“We need to make a phone call.” Moran turned on the phone and scrolled through the contacts. He selected the one he was looking for and put it on speaker.  
“Mycroft!” his mother’s voice beamed through the dark and dank room he was being held in. “I wasn’t expecting you to call.”  
“Mycroft can’t come to the phone at the moment. He’s a bit tied up.” Moran spoke. He was resting the knife over Mycroft’s right temple. The point of the sharp steel pressing hard enough to draw a bead of blood.  
“Who is this?”  
“An old friend of Mycroft’s. He and Sherlock took something from me. So I am going to take something from them. Say goodbye to your first born.” Moran laughed as he pressed the knife in and drew it along Mycroft’s face to his ear. He sliced it off. Mycroft’s scream was the last thing his parents heard before Moran hung up.


End file.
